<.m< 


\ 


HONORE    DE    BALZAC 

TRANSLATED     BY 

KATHARINE    PRESCOTT    WORMELEY 


THE 


COUNTRY    DOCTOR 


UNIVERSITY 
ROBERTS     BROTHERS 

3     SOMERSET     STREET 

BOSTON 
[892 


Copyright,  1886, 
By  Roberts  Brothers. 


All  rights  reserved. 


JHm&erstts  tyrtst: 
John  Wilson  and  Son,   Cambridge. 


£>"7 

2 

MAtfi/ 
CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAQE 

I.    The  Country  and  the  Man 1 

II.     O'er  Hill  and  Dale 84 

III.  The  Napoleon  of  the  People 160 

IV.  The  Confession  of  the  Country  Doctor    .  219 
V.    Elegies 268 


For  wounded  hearts,  silence  and  shade 


EtSITl 


THE  COUNTRY   DOCTOR. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE   COUNTRY    AND   THE    MAN. 

On  a  lovely  spring  morning,  in  1829,  a  man  about 
fifty  }Tears  of  age  was  riding  along  a  mountainous  road 
which  leads  to  a  large  village  in  the  neighborhood  of 
La  Grande  Chartreuse.  This  village  is  the  market-town 
of  a  populous  district  enclosed  within  the  circumference 
of  a  long  valley.  A  torrent,  with  a  rocky  bed  often 
dry,  but  filled  at  that  season  by  the  melted  snows, 
waters  this  valley,  whose  heights  command  on  either 
side  the  peaks  of  Dauphine  and  the  Savoie. 

Though  all  the  landscapes  nestling  within  the  chain 
of  the  two  Mauriennes  have  a  family  likeness,  the  region 
through  which  the  stranger  was  riding  offered  to  the 
ejTe  a  diversity  of  ground  and  a  change  fulness  of  light 
and  shadow  which  ma}r  be  sought  in  vain  elsewhere. 
At  times  the  valle}',  widening  suddenly,  gave  to  view 
an  irregular  carpet  of  verdure,  which  constant  irriga- 
tion, due  to  the  mountains,  kept  ever  fresh  and  tender 
to  the  e}re.  Sometimes  a  saw-mill  showed  its  humble 
buildings  picturesquely  placed,  its  supply  of  fir-trees 
stripped  of  bark,  its  watercourse  turned  from  the  moun- 
tain torrent  and  led  through  troughs  hollowed  squarely 


2  The  Country  Doctor. 

in  great  wooden  logs,  from  whose  crevices  a  film}' thread 
of  water  was  escaping.  Here  and  there,  cottages  sur- 
rounded by  gardens  filled  with  fruit-trees,  then  in 
flower,  wakened  the  ideas  which  industrious  poverty 
inspires.  Farther  on,  houses  with  red  roofs,  made  of 
flat  tiles  with  rounded  edges  like  the  scales  of  a  fish, 
told  of  the  ease  which  comes  of  patient  labor.  Above 
each  door  hung  a  basket,  in  which  the  cheeses  were  put 
to  diy.  The  hedges  everywhere  were  bright  with  grape- 
vines, twined,  as  in  Ital}',  among  dwarf  elms  whose 
foliage  serves  as  fodder  for  the  cattle.  By  a  caprice  of 
nature,  the  hills  approach  each  other  so  closely  in  some 
places  that  there  is  no  longer  an}'  room  for  mills,  or 
fields,  or  cottages.  Separated  only  by  the  torrent, 
which  darts  onward  in  cascades,  the  granite  walls  rise 
a  hundred  feet  on  either  side,  clothed  with  dark  firs  and 
beeches.  Erect,  fantastically  colored  with  tufts  of  moss, 
and  diverse  in  foliage,  these  trees  form  magnificent  col- 
onnades, edged  above  and  below  the  roadwa}7  with 
irregular  hedges  of  arbutus,  viburnum,  box,  and  sweet- 
brier.  The  fragrance  of  these  shrubs  blends  with  the 
penetrating  odors  of  the  young  shoots  of  larches,  pop- 
lars, and  the  resinous  pine,  and  with  the  wilder,  more 
subtile,  and  mysterious  perfumes  of  a  mountainous  re- 
gion, embodying,  as  it  were,  the  deepest  and  sweetest 
secrets  of  nature,  and  breathing  aromatic  airs  which 
stimulate  old  memories,  as  scents  are  wont  to  do.  A 
few  clouds  floated  among  the  rocks,  veiling  and  unveil- 
ing the  grizzled  summits  of  the  mountains,  often  as 
vaporous  as  the  clouds  themselves  whose  downy  flakes 
they  seemed  to  tear.  Every  instant  the  landscape 
changed  its  aspect,  and  the  sky  its  light ;  the  mountains 


The  Country  Doctor.  3 

changed  their  colors,  the  slopes  their  shadows,  and  the 
vales  their  shape.  Innumerable  vistas  opened,  which 
unlooked-for  accidents  —  a  ray  of  sunlight  athwart  the 
trunks  of  trees,  an  opening  glade,  a  tangled  brake  — 
made  delicious  to  the  e}'e  in  the  hush  of  silence,  in  the 
season  of  the  year  when  all  is  young  and  the  sun  kindles 
a  pure  heaven.  It  was  indeed  a  land  of  beauty  ;  it  was 
France ! 

The  traveller  —  a  man  of  tall  stature  —  was  dressed 
wholly  in  blue  cloth,  as  carefully  brushed  as  the  glossy 
hide  of  the  horse  on  which  he  sat  erect  and  firm  as  an 
old  cavalry  officer.  If  his  black  cravat,  his  doeskin  gloves, 
the  pistols  protruding  from  his  holsters,  and  the  port- 
manteau securely  fastened  to  the  crupper  of  his  saddle 
had  not  proclaimed  him  a  soldier,  his  bronzed  face,  pit- 
ted with  the  small-pox,  and  its  regular  features  stamped 
with  evident  insouciance,  his  decided  manner,  the  as- 
surance of  his  glance,  the  carriage  of  his  head,  would 
all  have  betrayed  the  regimental  habits  of  which  a  sol- 
dier never  divests  himself,  even  after  his  return  to  do- 
mestic life.  Other  men  might  have  marvelled  at  the 
various  beauties  of  this  alpine  nature,  so  smiling  as  it 
nestles  in  the  upland  valleys  of  France  ;  but  this  officer, 
who  had  doubtless  traversed  many  lands  with  the  French 
armies  of  the  imperial  wars,  enjoyed  the  landscape 
without  apparent  surprise  at  its  manifold  changes  ;  for 
astonishment  is  an  emotion  which  Napoleon  seems  to 
have  eradicated  from  the  minds  of  his  soldiers.  The 
composure  of  a  man's  face  is  a  sure  sign  by  which  an 
observer  may  recognize  the  men  who  were  formerly 
enrolled  under  the  ephemeral,  but  imperishable,  eagles 
of  the  great  emperor. 


4  The  Country  Doctor. 

The  traveller  was,  in  fact,  one  of  those  officers,  now 
few  in  number,  whom  the  bullets  spared,  though  he 
served  on  all  the  battlefields  commanded  hy  Napoleon. 
There  was  nothing  extraordinary  about  his  life.  He 
had  fought  well  and  loyally  in  the  ranks,  doing  his 
duty  by  night  as  by  day,  under  the  e}'e  of  his  comman- 
der or  away  from  him  ;  never  giving  an  unnecessary 
sabre-thrust,  and  incapable  of  giving  one  too  man}*. 
The  rosette  of  an  officer  of  the  Legion  of  honor,  which 
he  wore  in  his  button-hole,  came  to  him  after  the  battle 
of  the  Moskowa,  when  he  was  chosen  by  the  unanimous 
voice  of  his  regiment  as  the  one  who,  on  that  great  day, 
proved  most  worthy  to  receive  it.  Belonging  as  he  did 
to  the  limited  number  of  men  who  are  seemingly  reserved 
and  cold,  timid  in  self-assertion  and  content  within  them- 
selves,—  men  whose  spirit  is  humiliated  at  the  very 
thought  of  soliciting  a  favor,  of  whatever  nature  it  may 
be,  —  his  promotions  had  come  to  him  only  through  the 
slow  process  of  seniority.  Made  a  sub-lieutenant  in 
1802,  he  was,  despite  his  gray  mustache,  only  in  com- 
mand of  a  squadron  in  1829  ;  and  yet  his  life  was  so 
pure  that  no  man  in  the  arm}',  not  even  the  general, 
approached  him  without  an  involuntary  feeling  of  re- 
spect, —  an  uncontested  advantage,  which  his  superiors 
may  have  been  unwilling  to  forgive.  On  the  other  hand, 
and  by  wa}T  of  compensation  as  it  were,  the  common 
soldiers  were  devoted  to  him  with  a  feeling  like  that  of 
children  towards  a  good  mother,  for  to  them  he  was 
both  indulgent  and  severe.  Once  a  soldier  in  the  ranks 
like  themselves,  he  knew  all  their  miserable  joys  and 
their  joyous  miseries ;  the  pardonable  and  the  punish- 
able delinquencies  of  men  whom  he  always  called  his 


The  Country  Doctor,  5 

"  children,"  and  allowed,  during  a  campaign,  to  forage 
for  fodder  and  provisions  on  the  middle-class  inhabitants 
of  a  country. 

As  to  his  private  history,  it  was  wrapped  in  impene- 
trable mysterj*.  Like  all  soldiers  of  his  epoch,  he  had 
seen  the  world  only  through  the  smoke  of  cannon,  or 
in  the  brief  intervals  of  peace,  so  rare  in  the  European 
struggles  which  the  emperor  maintained.  Had  he  ever 
thought  of  marriage?  The  question  remained  unan- 
swered. Though  no  one  doubted  that  the  command- 
ant1 Genestas  had  had  his  love-affairs  as  he  passed 
from  garrison  to  garrison  and  from  country  to  countiy, 
or  shared  in  the  fetes  given  and  received  by  the  regi- 
ments, still  no  one  had  anjT  actual  knowledge  of  them. 
Without  prudery,  never  declining  airy  jovial  amusement, 
never  antagonistic  to  military  morals,  he  either  held  his 
tongue  or  answered  with  a  laugh,  if  questioned  on  the 
subject  of  his  amours.  To  the  words,  "  And  }'ou,  cap- 
tain, how  is  it  with  you  ? "  addressed  to  him  b}T  some 
officer  flushed  with  wine,  he  would  answer,  "  Gentlemen, 
another  glass  ! " 

A  sort  of  Ba}-ard  without  assumption,  Monsieur  Pierre 
Joseph  Genestas  had  nothing  poetical  or  romantic  about 
him  ;  in  fact  he  appeared  commonplace.  His  dress  was 
that  of  a  man  comfortably  well  off.  Though  he  had 
nothing  but  his  pay,  and  his  pension  was  all  he  had  to 
look  to  in  the  future,  nevertheless,  like  the  old  wolves 
of  commerce  to  whom  ill-luck  teaches  an  experience 
which  turns  to  obstinacy,  the  cavalry  captain  always 
kept  two  3^ears'  pay  ahead  of  him,  and  never  spent  the 
whole  of  his  salaiy.     He  was  so  little  of  a  gambler  that 

1  Title  given  to  the  captain  of  a  squadron  of  horse. 


6  The  Country  Doctor. 

he  looked  another  way  when  a  hand  was  wanted  at 
whist  or  an  additional  stake  at  ecarte.  But  though  he 
allowed  himself  no  unusual  expenses,  he  was  not  back- 
ward in  those  that  were  customary.  His  uniforms  lasted 
longer  than  those  of  any  officer  in  the  regiment,  by 
reason  of  the  care  which  his  limited  means  had  early 
led  him  to  bestow  upon  them,  —  a  habit  which  had  now 
become  mechanical.  He  might  have  been  suspected  of 
avarice  were  it  not  for  the  admirable  disinterestedness, 
the  fraternal  readiness,  with  which  he  opened  his  purse 
to  some  thoughtless  young  fellow  ruined  by  cards  or 
by  other  follies.  It  seemed  as  though  he  must  himself 
have  met  with  heavy  losses  at  play,  for  he  showed  such 
delicacy  in  assisting  others.  He  claimed  no  right  to  con- 
trol the  actions  of  his  debtors,  and  never  spoke  of  their 
indebtedness.  Child  of  the  regiment,  alone  in  the  world, 
he  made  the  army  his  nation  and  the  squadron  his 
family.  Consequently,  people  seldom  asked  the  reason 
of  his  modest  economies ;  on  the  contrary,  they  were 
glad  to  suppose  he  was  making  a  provision  of  comfort 
for  his  old  age.  He  was  now  on  the  eve  of  becoming  a 
lieutenant-colonel  of  cavahy,  and  it  might  be  presumed 
that  his  ambition  looked  to  a  future  retirement  to  coun- 
try life,  with  the  epaulets  and  emoluments  of  a  colonel. 
If  the  3'ounger  officers  talked  of  Genestas  after  morn- 
ing drill,  they  classed  him  with  the  men  who  begin  life 
by  obtaining  prizes  at  college  for  good  conduct  and  con- 
tinue for  the  rest  of  their  da}Ts  precise,  upright,  without 
passions,  useful  and  colorless  as  white  bread  ;  but  older 
and  graver  men  judged  very  different!}7.  Often  a  glance, 
an  expression  as  full  of  meaning  as  the  speech  of  a 
savage,  escaped  the  man  and  revealed  the  storms  of  a 


The  Country  Doctor.  7 

soul  within  him.  To  those  who  studied  him,  his  calm 
brow  showed  the  power  of  silencing  his  passions  and 
driving  them  back  into  the  depths  of  his  heart,  —  a  power 
dearly  won  through  experience  of  danger  and  the  un- 
foreseen disasters  of  war.  The  son  of  a  peer  of  France, 
who  had  lately  joined  the  regiment,  said  one  day 
apropos  of  Genestas,  that  he  might  have  been  "the 
most  conscientious  of  priests,  or  the  most  honest  of 
grocers  —  " 

"  —  and  the  least  fawning  of  marquises!"  he  re- 
marked, eyeing  the  young  dandy,  who  did  not  think 
his  commander  overheard  him. 

All  present  burst  into  a  laugh  ;  for  the  father  of  the 
young  man  was  known  as  the  flatterer  of  all  the  powers 
that  be,  —  an  elastic  man,  who  rebounded  over  the  heads 
of  revolutions  ;  and  the  son  took  after  him. 

The  French  armies  could  show  other  such  characters, 
grand  when  the  occasion  offered,  simple  and  unpretend- 
ing when  it  had  passed,  indifferent  to  gloiy,  forgetful  of 
danger ;  indeed,  more  such  men  were  met  with  than  the 
defects  of  human  nature  might  allow  us  to  suppose. 
Nevertheless,  we  should  be  strangely  mistaken  if  we  be- 
lieved that  Genestas  was  perfect.  Suspicious,  given  to 
violent  spirts  of  anger,  aggravating  in  discussion,  deter- 
mined to  be  thought  right  when  he  was  obviously  in  the 
wrong,  he  was  full  of  national  prejudices.  Throughout 
his  militar}-  life  he  had  had  a  fondness  for  good  wine. 
Though  he  alwa}'s  left  the  dinner-table  with  the  due 
decorum  of  his  rank,  he  was  serious  and  meditative, 
and  never,  at  such  times,  admitted  any  one  to  his  secret 
thoughts.  Though  he  knew  the  wajTs  of  the  world 
and  the  laws  of  politeness  tolerably  well,  a  species  of 


8  The  Country  Doctor. 

army  regulation  which  he  observed  with  the  stiffness 
of  a  martinet ;  though  he  possessed  both  natural  and 
acquired  sense  ;  and  understood  tactics,  drill,  the  prin- 
ciples of  fencing  on  horseback,  and  all  the  secrets 
of  veterinary  art,  his  education  in  other  respects  was 
prodigiously  neglected.  He  knew,  though  he  knew  it 
vaguely,  that  Caesar  was  either  a  consul  or  a  Roman 
emperor,  Alexander  a  Greek  or  a  Macedonian ;  he 
would  have  allowed  }tou  to  say  either  without  contradic- 
tion. Consequently,  when  the  conversation  became 
historical  or  scientific  he  grew  silent,  and  limited  his 
participation  in  it  to  little  nods  of  comprehension,  like 
those  of  a  sage  who  has  attained  to  pyrrhonism.  When 
Napoleon  wrote  from  Schoenbrunn,  May  13,  1809,  the 
famous  bulletin  addressed  to  the  Grand  Arm}7,  mistress 
of  Vienna,  declaring  that  "like  Medea,  the  Austrian 
princes  had  strangled  their  own  children,"  Genestas, 
lately  appointed  captain,  was  unwilling  to  compromise 
the  dignity  of  his  new  rank  by  asking  who  Medea  was  ; 
he  relied  upon  the  genius  of  Napoleon,  confident  that 
the  emperor  would  onty  mention  officia]  matters  to  the 
Grand  Army  and  the  house  of  Austria,  and  concluded 
that  Medea  was  some  Austrian  archduchess  of  equivo- 
cal behavior.  Nevertheless,  as  the  topic  might  concern 
military  discipline,  he  felt  uneasy  about  the  Medea  of 
the  bulletin  ;  so  that  when  Mademoiselle  Raucourt  pro- 
duced Medea  on  the  stage,  the  captain,  having  read  the 
announcement,  repaired  to  the  Theatre  Francais  to  see 
the  celebrated  actress  in  that  mythological  character,  — 
as  to  which  he  made  sundr}7  inquiries  of  his  neighbor. 
A  man  who,  in  the  ranks,  had  had  the  energy  to  learn 
how  to  read,  write,  and  cipher,  wras  surely  capable  of 


The  Country  Doctor.  9 

understanding  that  a  captain  of  cavalry  must  have  an 
education.  Accordingly,  from  the  date  of  his  promo- 
tion, he  read  with  much  ardor  all  the  novels  and  current 
books  of  the  da}7 ;  which  provided  him  with  a  certain 
amount  of  knowledge  on  which  he  contrived  to  make  a 
fair  appearance.  Out  of  gratitude  to  these  teachers,  he 
went  so  far  as  to  defend  Pigault-Lebrun,  declaring  that 
he  found  him  instructive  and  often  profound. 

This  officer,  whose  acquired  prudence  never  allowed 
him  to  make  a  useless  expedition,  had  just  left  Grenoble 
and  was  on  his  wa}^  towards  La  Grande  Chartreuse, 
after  obtaining  from  his  colonel  a  leave  of  absence  for 
eight  days.  He  was  not  intending  to  make  a  long  trip  ; 
but,  misled  from  mile  to  mile  bjT  the  ignorant  directions 
of  the  peasants  whom  he  questioned  by  the  way,  he  be- 
gan to  think  it  prudent  not  to  ride  farther  without  forti- 
fying his  stomach.  Though  there  was  little  chance  of 
finding  any  housewife  at  home,  at  a  season  when  all 
were  at  work  in  the  fields,  he  nevertheless  stopped  be- 
fore some  cottages  clustered  round  an  open  space,  which 
formed  an  irregular  square  open  to  all  comers.  The  soil 
of  this  family  territory  was  hard  and  well-swept,  though 
cut  up  here  and  there  by  manure-pits.  Rose-bushes, 
ivy,  and  tall  shrubs  climbed  the  cracks  and  crevices  of 
the  walls.  A  straggling  currant-bush  grew  at  the  en- 
trance to  the  square,  on  which  some  tattered  clothing 
was  hung  to  dry.  The  first  inhabitant  encountered  by 
Genestas  was  a  pig,  wallowing  in  a  heap  of  straw,  who, 
hearing  the  tramp  of  a  horse,  raised  his  head,  grunted, 
and  put  to  flight  a  large  black  cat. 

A  young  peasant  girl,  carrying  on  her  head  a  bundle 
of  herbs,  suddenly  appeared,  followed  at  a  distance  by 


VTS  ,ITT  } 


10  The  Country  Doctor. 

four  little  brats,  all  in  rags,  but  bold  and  noisy,  brown 
and  handsome,  with  daring  eyes,  —  regular  devils,  who 
had  little  of  the  angel  about  them.  The  sun  sparkled, 
and  gave  I  know  not  what  of  purity  to  the  air,  to  the 
cottages,  to  the  manure-pits,  to  the  tousled  heads  of 
the  children.  The  soldier  asked  if  he  could  have  a  glass 
of  milk.  For  all  answer  the  girl  uttered  a  hoarse  cry. 
An  elderly  woman  appeared  on  the  threshold  of  a  cot- 
tage-door, and  the  young  girl,  after  pointing  to  her, 
disappeared  into  a  stable.  Genestas  rode  towards  the 
woman,  carefully  guiding  his  horse  lest  it  should  injure 
the  children,  who  were  now  running  about  its  legs.  He 
renewed  his  request,  which  the  woman  refused  to  grant ; 
she  could  not  skim  the  cream,  she  said,  which  was  meant 
for  butter.  The  officer  met  the  objection  by  offering 
to  pay  for  the  loss.  He  fastened  his  horse  to  the  door- 
post and  entered  the  cottage.  The  four  children,  who 
belonged  to  the  woman,  seemed  all  of  one  age,  —  a  cir- 
cumstance which  struck  the  captain  as  curious.  A  fifth, 
clinging  to  her  skirts,  was  feeble,  pale,  and  sickly,  and 
—  needing,  doubtless,  all  her  care  —  seemed  the  best 
beloved,  the  Benjamin  of  the  family. 

Genestas  sat  down  in  a  corner  of  the  old  citimney- 
place,  where  there  was  no  fire  ;  a  colored  plaster-cast 
of  the  Virgin  holding  the  infant  Jesus  in  her  arms  was 
on  the  mantel-shelf,  —  sublime  emblem  !  The  soil  itself 
made  the  floor  of  the  house ;  the  surface,  long  since 
trodden  down,  though  clean,  was  now  roughened  like  the 
rind  of  an  orange  on  a  large  scale.  Within  the  fire- 
place hung  a  wooden  shoe  filled  with  salt,  a  gridiron, 
and  a  large  kettle.  The  farther  end  of  the  room  was 
completelj'  filled  by  a  four-post  bedstead,  with  a  seal- 


The  Country  Doctor.  11 

loped  vallance.  Here  and  there  were  three-legged  stools, 
made  hy  driving  three  sticks  into  a  mere  bit  of  beech- 
board.  A  wooden  locker  that  held  the  bread  ;  a  large 
wooden  ladle  for  dipping  up  water ;  some  earthenware 
bowls,  and  a  pail  to  hold  the  milk ;  a  spinning-wheel 
standing  on  the  locker ;  some  osier  baskets  for  the 
cheese  hanging  against  the  blackened  walls ;  a  worm- 
eaten  door  with  an  open  iron  grating,  —  such  were  the 
decorations  and  furniture  of  this  humble  dwelling.  Here, 
then,  is  the  first  scene  of  a  drama  in  which  the  officer, 
who  was  idly  tapping  the  floor  with  his  riding-whip  and 
little  suspecting  the  presence  of  any  drama,  was  about 
to  assist  as  a  spectator. 

When  the  old  woman,  followed  hy  the  sickly  little 
Benjamin,  disappeared  through  a  door  which  opened 
into  her  daily,  the  four  children,  having  sufficiently  ex- 
amined the  officer,  proceeded  to  rid  themselves  of  their 
companion,  the  pig.  That  animal,  with  whom  the}'  were 
in  the  habit  of  playing,  had  followed  them  to  the  sill  of 
the  door.  The  little  monkeys  rushed  at  him  so  vigor- 
ously, applying  such  characteristic  slaps,  that  he  was 
forced  to  beat  a  speedy  retreat.  The  enem}^  routed, 
the  children  next  attacked  a  door,  whose  latch  yielded 
to  their  efforts  and  broke  away  from  the  worn-out  sta- 
ple which  held  it ;  then  they  darted  into  a  sort  of  fruit- 
room,  where  the  captain,  amused  at  the  scene,  saw  them 
devouring  dried  plums.  The  old  woman  with  the  parch- 
ment face  and  the  ragged  clothing  returned  at  this 
moment,  bringing  a  jug  of  milk  for  her  guest. 

"  Ah  !  the  little  scamps  !  "  she  said. 

She  followed  the  children,  caught  each  of  them  by 
the  arm,  and  flung  them  all  back  into  the  first  room, 


12  The  Country  Doctor. 

without,  however,  taking  the  plums  from  them  ;  then 
she  carefully  fastened  the  door  of  her  receptacle  of 
plenty. 

"There,  there,  my  darlings,  be  good.  If  I  didn't 
keep  an  e}'e  on  them,  they  would  eat  the  whole  heap, 
the  rogues  !  "  she  said,  looking  at  Genestas.  Then  she 
seated  herself  on  a  stool,  took  the  sick  child  between 
her  knees,  and  began,  with  womanly  dexterity  and  ma- 
ternal care,  to  comb  its  head,  which  was  covered  with 
a  skin  disease.  The  four  little  robbers  remained  quite 
still,  some  standing  up,  others  hanging  to  the  bed  or 
against  the  locker,  all  dirty  and  sniffling,  but  sound 
and  health}',  munching  their  prunes  without  a  word, 
and  gazing  at  the  new-comer  with  mischievous  and 
mocking  eyes. 

1 '  Are  they  }-our  children  ?  "  inquired  the  soldier. 

"No,  monsieur;  they  are  foundlings  from  the  hospi- 
tal," said  the  woman.  "  I  get  three  francs  a  month  and 
a  pound  of  soap  for  each  of  them." 

"  But,  nry  good  woman,  the}^  must  cost  3'ou  twice  as 
much." 

"That  is  what  Monsieur  Benassis  tells  us.  But  if 
others  take  the  children  at  that  price,  we  must,  too.  It 
is  n't  ever}'  one  who  can  get  them  ;  indeed,  we  have  got 
to  go  through  a  deal  o'  ceremon}',  as  3011  might  say. 
Suppose  we  do  give  them  our  milk  for  nothing.  It 
does  n't  cost  us  anything.  Besides,  monsieur,  three 
francs,  —  why,  it's  quite  a  sum,  —  that's  fifteen  francs 
a  month,  not  counting  five  pounds  of  soap;  and  in 
these  valleys  we  've  got  to  wear  our  souls  out  to  earn 
ten  sous  a  da}'." 

u'  Do  you  own  your  land?"  asked  the  captain. 


The  Country  Doctor.  13 

1  'No,  monsieur,  I  had  some  at  the  time  my  man 
died  ;  but  since  his  death  I  have  been  so  poor  I  had 
to  sell  it." 

"Then,"  said  Genestas,  "how  can  you  keep  free  of 
debt  at  the  end  of  the  year,  and  bring  up,  feed,  and 
wash  for  children  at  two  sous  a  dajT?  " 

"  Well,  monsieur,"  she  answered,  "I  don't  get  round 
to  the  Saint  Sylvester  without  debts.  But  it  can't  be 
helped,  and  the  good  God  lends  a  hand.  I  've  two 
cows.  My  daughter  and  I  glean  in  harvest-time,  in  win- 
ter we  gather  wood,  and  at  night  we  spin.  It  would  n't 
do,  though,  to  have  another  such  winter  as  the  last. 
I  owe  seventy-five  francs  to  the  miller  for  flour.  Luck- 
ily, he  is  Monsieur  Benassis's  miller.  Ah  !  Monsieur 
Benassis,  he  's  the  poor  folks's  friend  !  He  has  never 
wrung  his  dues  from  an}'  one,  no  matter  who,  and  he 
won't  begin  with  me.  Besides,  our  cow  has  got  a  calf, 
and  that  will  help  along  a  bit." 

The  four  orphans,  for  whom  all  human  protection 
was  restricted  to  the  kindness  of  this  old  peasant  wo- 
man, had  now  finished  eating  their  prunes.  They  prof- 
ited by  the  fact  of  her  attention  being  diverted  to  the 
officer,  and  drew  up  in  a  close  column  for  another  at- 
tack on  the  door  which  parted  them  from  the  heap  of 
plums.  They  advanced,  not  as  French  soldiers  usually 
rush  to  the  assault,  but  silentry,  like  Germans,  driven 
b}T  naive  and  unblushing  greed. 

"  Ah  !  you  little  rascals  !  will  you  be  done?  " 

The  old  woman  got  up,  caught  the  strongest  of  the 
four,  smacked  him  lightly  with  her  hand,  and  drove  him 
out  of  doors.  He  did  not  cry ;  but  the  others  stood 
aghast. 


14  The  Country  Doctor. 

"They  give  3^011  a  good  deal  of  trouble,"  said  Ge- 
nestas. 

"Oh,  no,  monsieur!  they  smell  my  prunes,  the  dar- 
lings !  If  I  left  them  alone  a  moment  they  'd  eat 
enough  to  burst  themselves." 

"You  love  them?" 

At  this  question,  the  old  woman  raised  her  head, 
looked  at  the  soldier  with  a  half-amused  expression, 
and  replied  :  "  Love  them  ?  don't  I  love  them  !  I  have 
just  sent  back  three,"  she  added,  sighing.  "  I  am  only 
allowed  to  keep  them  till  Vaey  are  six  years  old." 

"  Where  is  your  own  child?  " 

"I  have  lost  it." 

"How  old  are  you?"  asked  Genestas,  to  undo  the 
effect  of  his  previous  question. 

"Thirty-eight,  monsieur.  It  will  be  two  years  this 
midsummer  since  my  man  died." 

She  finished  dressing  the  little  sufferer,  who  seemed 
to  thank  her  with  a  wan  and  loving  look. 

' '  What  a  life  of  toil  and  self-forgetfulness  !  "  thought 
the  soldier. 

Beneath  this  roof,  worthy  to  be  named  with  the  stable 
where  Christ  was  born,  the  hardest  duties  of  maternity 
were  fulfilled  cheerfully  and  without  pretension.  What 
hearts  are  there,  buried  from  human  knowledge  !  What 
wealth,  what  penury  !  Soldiers  appreciate  better  than 
other  men  how  much  there  is  of  grandeur  in  the  sublime 
self-abnegations  of  poverty,  in  the  gospel  of  the  poor  and 
needy.  Elsewhere  we  may  find  the  Scriptures  bound, 
as  it  were,  in  silk  and  satin,  illuminated,  illustrated,  and 
adorned  ;  but  here,  assuredly,  was  the  spirit  of  the 
Book.     It  was  impossible  not  to  believe  in  some  sacred 


The  Country  Doctor.  15 

tradition  of  the  heavens  coming  <Jown  through  this  wo- 
man, who  had  made  herself  a  mother  even  as  Jesus 
Christ  had  made  himself  a  man ;  who  gleaned  and 
toiled  and  suffered  and  went  in  debt  for  outcast  chil- 
dren, —  refusing  to  perceive  that  she  was  ruining  her- 
self, —  that  she  might  be  their  mother.  The  sight  of 
this  woman's  life  compels  us  to  admit  the  communion 
of  spirits  here  below  with  the  intelligences  of  a  higher 
world.  Captain  Genestas  looked  at  her  and  lowered 
his  head. 

"Is  Monsieur  Benassis  a  good  doctor?"  he  said,  at 
length. 

"  I  don't  know,  monsieur ;  but  he  cures  the  poor  for 
nothing." 

' '  It  seems,"  said  the  captain  to  himself,  "as  if  the 
man  really  were  a  man." 

' '  Ah  !  yes,  monsieur,  and  a  grand  man  !  There  's 
no  one  round  here  that  does  n't  put  him  in  their  prayers, 
day  and  night." 

"Here  is  something  for  you,  mother,"  said  the  sol- 
dier, putting  money  into  her  hand;  "and  this  is  for 
the  children," — giving  her  a  crown-piece.  "Am  I 
far  from  Monsieur  Benassis's  house?"  he  asked  after 
mounting  his  horse. 

"  Oh,  no,  monsieur,  a  short  three  miles  at  the  most." 

The  captain  rode  away,  concluding  that  he  had  six 
miles  more  to  go.  He  had  not  ridden  far,  however, 
when  he  saw  through  the  trunks  of  trees  a  group  of 
houses,  then  the  roofs  of  the  houses  clustering  round 
a  belfry  which  rose  into  a  steeple,  whose  tiles  were 
held,  at  the  angles  of  the  structure,  by  plates  of  metal 
that   sparkled  in   the  sunlight,  —  a  species   of  roofing 


- 

.  -    1.-.: 
ia  am  i 


of  cbildreii  who  were  pfetyrne  ffcrtr  to  riw   firm   die 

-■    :    v_-    .•»:     i-      :.•.<;   -.::..":    v^i    .    -.-  -     __    -.-> 
v.  :ir    :'.'    ::-.  ir~   -  ::.-    i_    ::    -.     _   .--  ~; 

,:^2.r  :. ■    .:.      I":-;    -.-  :  ;   -  - 


i,  :::r:        I  ._  :.:,:-   ;::  --_-:-     "    i:A  n  —  i-; 

:i-    :.-■-.     :..-    n:    :    ::    _::  -.    i    -::"    ::   .-!:;•:  ~.:v-    ;- 
.r:\::  Mr  --_-  :'  *  i  •ri:.^:    i  =  ir.ci  i    -_■__  V   .^  -     - 

_    _-'~r    v.."       :~;      •:•;       i:   '_.::    :_- 

:.•:  :-t.-     _iei   tyli 
ofOdr  severs 


The  Country  Doctor.  17 

noticed  several  roofs  of  black  shingles,  still  more  of 
thatch,  a  few  of  tiles,  and  six  or  eight,  doubtless  those 
of  the  curate,  the  juge-de-paix,  and  the  bourgeois  of 
the  neighborhood,  in  slate.  The  place  gave  the  idea  of 
an  isolated  village  beyond  which  no  other  world  existed  ; 
it  appeared  to  touch  and  hold  to  nothing ;  the  inhabit- 
ants seemed  like  a  single  family  far  removed  from  social 
movement,  connected  with  it  only  by  the  tax-gatherer 
or  by  imperceptible  feelers. 

When  Genestas  had  advanced  some  distance,  he  saw 
a  road  higher  up  on  the  mountain-side  which  commanded 
the  village  street.  There  was.  no  doubt,  an  old  and  a 
new  town.  In  fact,  when  the  captain  reached  a  spot 
where  he  slackened  his  horse's  pace,  he  could  see 
through  an  opening  between  the  houses,  other  and  well- 
built  houses,  whose  new  roofs  enlivened  the  old  village. 
From  these  buildings,  above  which  rose  an  avenue  of 
young  trees,  came  the  songs  of  bus}*  laborers,  the  hum  of 
workshops,  the  grinding  of  files,  the  sound  of  hammers, 
the  confused  cries  of  various  industries.  He  noticed  the 
thin  smoke  from  the  household  chimneys  and  the  fuller 
volume  from  the  forges  of  the  wheelwrights,  the  lock- 
smiths, and  the  farriers.  At  last,  towards  the  farther 
end  of  the  valle}',  to  which  his  guide  led  him,  the  cap- 
tain saw  some  scattered  farms  and  a  tract  of  well-culti- 
vated fields  with  plantations  skilfully  laid  out ;  like  a 
little  corner  of  Brie  nestling  in  a  vast  fold  of  the  land- 
scape, whose  existence  between  the  village  and  the 
mountains  he  had  not  at  first  sight  suspected. 

Presently  the  child  cried  out :  — 

"  There  's  the  door  of  his  house  !  " 

The  officer  dismounted,  slipped  the  bridle  over  his 

2 


18  The  Country  Doctor, 

arm,  and  then,  judging  that  all  labor  is  worth}7  of  its 
hire,  he  drew  some  coppers  from  his  pocket  and  offered 
them  to  the  boy,  who  took  them  with  a  puzzled  air, 
opened  his  great  eyes,  returned  no  thanks,  and  stood 
by  to  see  what  would  happen. 

' '  Civilization  is  behindhand  in  these  parts  ;  the  reli- 
gion of  labor  is  in  full  vigor,  and  beggary  has  not  pushed 
its  way  in,"  thought  Genestas. 

More  curious  than  interested,  the  small  guide  leaned 
against  a  wall,  about  four  feet  high,  which  encloses  the 
court}* ard  of  the  house,  and  in  which  a  black  wooden 
lattice  is  inserted  on  either  side  of  the  gate-posts.  The 
gate,  the  lower  part  of  which  is  of  wood  formerly 
painted  gray,  is  finished  at  the  top  with  yellow  bars  in 
the  form  of  stanchions.  These  ornaments,  whose  color 
has  faded,  take  the  shape  of  a  crescent  at  the  top  of 
each  half  of  the  gate,  and  come  together  in  a  huge  cone 
formed  by  the  uprights  when  the  gate  is  closed.  This 
worm-eaten  structure,  dappled  with  velvet  mosses,  is 
half-destroyed  by  the  alternate  action  of  sun  and  rain. 
Overgrown  with  aloes  and  a  chance  growth  of  pellitory, 
the  gate-posts  hide  the  shoots  of  two  thornless  acacias 
which  are  planted  within  the  courtyard,  and  whose 
green  tops  rise  in  the  shape  of  powder-puffs.  The  con- 
dition of  this  gateway  betrayed  a  want  of  care  in  its 
owner  which  seemed  to  annoy  the  soldier,  who  knitted 
his  brows  like  a  man  forced  to  admit  the  loss  of  an  illu- 
sion. We  are  accustomed  to  judge  of  others  by  our- 
selves ;  and  though  we  graciously  absolve  them  for  faults 
which  are  like  our  own,  we  condemn  them  with  severity 
if  the}7  have  not  our  virtues.  If  the  captain  wished  to 
find  in  Monsieur  Benassis  a  careful  and  orderly  man, 


The  Country  Doctor.  19 

the  gateway  of  his  dwelling  most  assuredly  proclaimed 
an  absolute  indifference  to  such  proprieties.  A  soldier 
so  wedded  to  domestic  method  as  Genestas,  was  likely, 
on  seeing  the  gate,  to  form  rapid  conclusions  as  to  the 
life  and  character  of  its  unknown  proprietor,  and  the 
captain,  in  spite  of  his  native  caution,  did  not  fail  to 
do  so. 

The  gate  was  ajar,  —  another  piece  of  carelessness  ! 
Profiting  by  this  rural  trustfulness,  the  officer  rode  into 
the  courtyard  without  ceremony,  and  fastened  his  horse 
to  the  bars  of  the  lattice.  As  he  knotted  the  bridle,  a 
neigh  was  heard  in  the  adjacent  stable  which  made  both 
horse  and  rider  look  involuntarily  in  that  direction.  An 
old  serving-man  opened  the  door  of  the  building  and 
showed  a  head  covered  with  the  red  woollen  cap  worn 
habitually  by  the  country  people,  and  precisely  like  the 
Phrygian  cap  with  which  we.  now  bedeck  the  statues  of 
Liberty.  As  there  were  stalls  for  several  horses,  the 
man,  after  asking  Genestas  if  he  had  come  to  see  Mon- 
sieur Benassis,  offered  him  the  hospitality  of  the  stable 
for  his  horse,  looking  with  an  expression  of  tenderness 
and  admiration  at  the  animal,  which  was  very  handsome. 
The  captain  followed  his  horse  to  see  how  he  was  likely 
to  fare.  The  stable  was  cleau,  the  litter  plentiful,  and 
the  two  horses  of  Benassis  had  the  contented  look  which 
makes  a  curate's  horse  distinguishable  among  all  others 
of  its  species.  A  woman-servant,  who  came  from  the 
interior  of  the  dwelling-house  and  stood  on  the  portico, 
seemed  to  be  officially  waiting  to  be  questioned  by  the 
stranger,  who,  however,  had  already  heard  from  the 
stable-man  that  Monsieur  Benassis  was  out. 

4 "Our  master  has  gone  id  the  flour-mill,"  he  said. 


20  TJie  Country  Doctor, 

"  If  you  wish  to  join  him,  }tou  have  only  to  follow  that 
path  which  leads  to  the  meadows  ;  the  mill  is  at  the  end 
of  it." 

Genestas  preferred  to  give  a  look  to  the  country, 
rather  than  wait  an  indefinite  time  for  Benassis's  return, 
and  he  took  the  path  toward  the  mill.  When  he  reached 
the  end  of  the  village  street,  which  cuts  an  irregular 
line  on  the  mountain-side,  he  saw  the  valle}T,  the  mill, 
and  one  of  the  most  enchanting  landscapes  he  had  ever 
yet  seen. 

The  river,  checked  in  its  course  by  the  base  of  the 
mountains,  forms  a  little  lake,  from  which  the  peaks 
rise  in  tiers,  one  above  another,  their  numerous  valleys 
suggested  to  the  e3Te  by  changing  tints  of  light,  or  by 
the  outlines,  more  or  less  distinct,  of  their  projecting 
ridges  clothed  with  black  pines.  The  mill,  latety  built 
at  the  spot  where  the  torrent  pours  into  the  lake,  has 
the  charm  of  an  isolated  building  hiding  beneath  the 
shade  of  aquatic  trees  in  the  midst  of  waters.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  river,  at  the  foot  of  a  mountain  whose 
summit  was  just  then  lighted  b}'  the  rays  of  a  sun  al- 
ready on  the  decline,  Genestas  observed  about  a  dozen 
deserted  cottages,  without  doors  or  windows,  their  bat- 
tered roofs  showing  wide  gaps.  The  land  around  them 
had  been  converted  into  fields,  carefully  tilled  and  sown 
with  grain  ;  and  their  gardens  were  now  meadows,  wa- 
tered by  a  system  of  irrigation  laid  out  with  as  much 
art  as  in  Limousin.  The  captain  involuntarily  stopped 
short  to  contemplate  the  ruined  village. 

Why  is  it  that  mankind  can  never  look  on  ruins  with- 
out deep  emotion,  be  they  ever  so  insignificant?  Doubt- 
less because  the}T  present  an  image  of  misfortune  whose 


m 


The  Country  Doctor,  21 

weight  is  felt  under  so  many  and  diverse  forms  hy  hu- 
man nature.  Cemeteries  bring  the  thought  of  death ; 
deserted  villages  a  vision  of  life's  woes :  death  is  an 
expected  evil,  but  the  sorrows  of  life  are  infinite,  and 
infinitude  is  the  secret  of  the  deepest  dejection.  The 
officer  reached  the  paved  path  leading  to  the  mill  with- 
out being  able  to  explain  to  himself  the  abandonment 
of  the  village.  He  inquired  for  Benassis  of  the  miller's 
man,  who  was  sitting  on  some  sacks  of  wheat  at  the 
door  of  the  building. 

"  Monsieur  Benassis  has  gone  over  there,"  said  the 
man,  pointing  to  one  of  the  ruined  cottages. 

"  Was  that  village  burned?"  asked  the  captain. 

"  No,  monsieur." 

"Then  why  is  it  thus?" 

"Ah!  why  indeed?"  answered  the  miller,  with  a 
gesture  of  his  shoulders  as  he  turned  into  the  house. 
"  Monsieur  Benassis  will  inform  you." 

The  officer  crossed  a  species  of  bridge  made  by  some 
large  stones  among  which  the  torrent  flows,  and  pres- 
ently reached  the  cottage.  The  thatch  of  its  roof  was 
still  intact,  covered  with  moss,  but  without  holes,  and 
the  doors  and  windows  seemed  to  be  in  good  condition. 
As  he  crossed  the  threshold,  Genestas  saw  a  fire  in  the 
chimnej'-place,  at  the  corner  of  which  an  old  woman  was 
kneeling  beside  a  sick  man  who  was  sitting  in  a  chair, 
while  another  man  stood  by  with  his  face  turned  toward 
the  hearth.  The  interior  of  the  house  formed  a  single 
room,  lighted  through  a  wretched  window-frame  filled 
with  calico.  The  floor  was  trodden  earth.  One  chair, 
a  table,  and  a  pallet  were  the  whole  furniture.  Never 
in  his  life  had  the  captain  seen  such  bareness,  not  even 


22  Tlie  Country  Doctor. 

in  Russia,  where  the  huts  of  the  raoujiks  are  like  the 
dens  of  wild  beasts.  Nothing  showed  connection  with 
the  things  of  life  ;  there  was  not  even  a  utensil  for  the 
preparation  of  the  commonest  food.  It  was  like  the 
kennel  of  a  dog  without  its  platter.  Were  it  not  for 
a  long  blouse  hanging  from  a  nail,  and  some  wooden 
shoes  padded  with  straw,  — the  only  clothing  of  the  sick 
man, — this  cottage  would  have  seemed  as  deserted  as 
the  others.  The  kneeling  woman,  who  was  an  aged 
peasant,  was  endeavoring  to  keep  the  patient's  feet  in  a 
tub  filled  with  brown  water.  At  the  sound  of  steps,  which 
the  jingle  of  spurs  rendered  unusual  to  ears  accustomed 
to  the  plodding  tread  of  the  peasantry,  the  man  turned 
round,  and  saw  Genestas  with  an  evident  surprise,  in 
which  the  old  woman  shared. 

UI  need  not  ask,"  said  the  soldier,  "if  you  are 
Monsieur  Benassis.  As  a  stranger,  impatient  to  see 
you,  I  trust  3^011  will  pardon  me  for  seeking  you  upon 
your  battle-field  instead  of  waiting  at  your  house.  Do 
not  let  me  disturb  you ;  continue  what  3'ou  are  doing. 
When  you  have  finished,  I  will  tell  you  the  object  of 
my  visit." 

Genestas  half  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  the 
table  and  remained  silent.  The  fire  cast  a  stronger 
light  within  the  cottage  than  the  sun  could  shed  with- 
out, for  its  rays,  intercepted  by  the  summits  of  the 
mountains,  never  reached  this  portion  of  the  valley. 
In  the  glow  of  the  fire,  which  was  made  of  the  resinous 
pine  which  sends  up  a  vivid  flame,  the  soldier  exam- 
ined the  face  of  the  man  whom  some  secret  motive 
constrained  him  to  seek,  to  study,  and  to  thoroughly 
comprehend.     Monsieur   Benassis,    the    doctor   of  the 


The  Country  Doctor.  23 

district,  stood  with  folded  arms  coldly  listening  to 
Genestas,  then  he  returned  the  captain's  bow  and  gave 
his  attention  once  more  to  the  sick  man,  without  no- 
ticing that  he  was  himself  the  object  of  the  keen  scru- 
tiny of  the  soldier. 

Benassis  was  a  man  of  ordinary  height,  but  broad  in  the 
shoulders  and  wide  in  the  chest.  An  ample  green  over- 
coat, buttoned  to  the  throat,  prevented  the  officer  from 
seizing  at  a  glance  the  characteristic  points  of  the  figure 
and  carriage  of  this  personage ;  but  the  shadow  and 
the  stillness  in  which  the  body  was  held  served  to  throw 
the  face,  then  lighted  by  the  reflection  of  the  fire,  into 
strong  relief.  The  man  had  a  face  which  resembled 
that  of  the  Faun  of  sculpture,  —  the  same  brow,  slightly 
arched,  but  full  of  projections,  all  more  or  less  signifi- 
cant ;  the  same  upward  turn  of  the  nose,  with  the  spir- 
ituel  expression  of  the  cleft  nostril ;  and  the  same  high 
cheek-bones.  The  line  of  the  lips  was  sinuous,  and 
the  lips  themselves  thick  and  red.  The  chin  stood  out 
abruptly.  The  eyes  were  brOwn  and  animated,  with  an 
ardent  look,  to  which  the  pearly  whiteness  of  the  e}re- 
ball  gave  extraordinary  brilliancy,  telling  of  passions 
now  subdued.  The  hair  once  black  and  now  gray,  the 
deep  furrows  in  the  face,  and  the  heav}7  e}rebrows  al- 
ready whitened,  the  nose  grown  veiny  and  bulbous,  the 
yellow  skin  marbled  with  red  patches,  all  denoted  fifty 
years  of  life  and  the  severe  toil  of  his  profession.  The 
soldier  could  only  guess  at  the  shape  and  capacity  of 
the  head,  then  covered  with  a  cap  ;  but  although  it  was 
thus  partially  concealed,  it  seemed  to  him  one  of  those 
heads  which  are  proverbially  called  "  square."  Accus- 
tomed, through  his  intercourse  with  the  men  of  energy 


24  The  Country  Doctor. 

whom  Napoleon  drew  around  him,  to  recognize  the 
personal  qualities  of  those  who  were  destined  for  great 
deeds,  Genestas  felt  that  there  was  a  mystery  in  this 
life  thus  hidden  in  obscurity,  and  asked  himself,  as  he 
gazed  at  that  remarkable  face,  — 

"  What  chance,  or  fate,  can  have  made  him  a  coun- 
try doctor  ?  " 

After  earnestly  studying  that  face,  which,  notwith- 
standing its  analogies  to  other  human  faces,  revealed  a 
secret  and  hidden  existence  at  variance  with  its  appar- 
ently commonplace  circumstances,  Genestas  was  pres- 
ently led  to  share  in  the  attention  the  doctor  was 
bestowing  upon  the  sick  man,  and  the  sight  of  the 
latter  completely  changed  the  current  of  his  thoughts. 

In  spite  of  his  many  military  experiences,  the  old 
officer  felt  a  shock  of  surprise,  mingled  with  horror,  as 
his  eyes  fell  on  a  human  face  where  the  light  of  thought 
had  never  shone ;  a  livid  face,  whose  suffering  seemed 
dumb  and  innocent,  like  that  on  the  face  of  a  child 
unable  as  }Tet  to  speak  and  weary  of  crying ;  it  was  the 
face  of  a  creature  onty,  —  that  of  an  old  and  djing  cretin. 
The  cretin  was  the  only  variety  of  the  human  species 
which  the  cavalry  captain  had  not  yet  seen.  At  the  sight 
of  such  a  forehead,  where  the  flesh  made  a  thick,  round 
fold ;  such  eyes,  like  those  of  a  boiled  fish ;  a  head 
covered  with  short  and  stubbly  hair  without  natural 
juices,  a  flattened  head,  deprived  of  the  organs  of 
intelligence,  who  would  not  have  felt,  as  Genestas  did, 
an  involuntary  disgust  for  a  being  that  had  neither  the 
graces  of  an  animal  nor  the  privileges  of  a  man, — 
who  had  never  possessed  either  reason  or  instinct,  and 
had  never  heard  or  spoken  any  language  ?     Watching 


The  Country  Doctor.  25 

the  poor  creature  as  he  neared  the  close  of  a  career 
which  was  not  life,  it  seemed  difficult  to  feel  a  regret : 
and  yet  the  old  woman  was  gazing  at  him  with  tender 
anxiety,  and  rubbing  his  legs,  where  the  scalding  water 
did  not  reach  them,  with  as  much  affection  as  if  the  man 
had  been  her  husband.  Benassis  himself,  after  stud}*- 
ing  the  lifeless  face  and  the  lack-lustre  eyes,  gently  took 
the  cretin's  hand  and  felt  his  pulse. 

'-  The  bath  does  not  act,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head ; 
"  we  must  put  him  back  to  bed." 

He  lifted  the  inert  mass  of  flesh,  carried  it  to  the 
pallet,  from  which  no  doubt  he  had  brought  it,  and  laid 
it  there,  carefully  extending  the  legs,  already  growing 
cold,  and  placing  the  head  and  hands  with  as  much 
tenderness  as  a  mother  could  give  to  her  child. 

"It  is  all  over;  he  will  die,"  added  Benassis,  who 
remained  standing  by  the  side  of  the  bed. 

The  old  woman,  with  her  hands  on  her  hips,  dropped 
a  few  tears  as  she  looked  at  the  dying  creature.  Ge- 
nestas  was  silent,  unable  to  explain  to  himself  wiry  the 
death  of  so  uninteresting  a  being  should  make  such 
an  impression  on  him.  He  instinctively  shared  the 
unbounded  pity  felt  for  these  wretched  creatures  in  the 
sunless  valleys  where  fate  has  given  them  life.  This 
pit}*,  which  degenerates  into  religious  superstition  in 
the  communities  to  which  cretins  belong,  is  assuredly 
derived  from  the  purest  of  Christian  virtues,  —  charity, 

—  and  from  that  form  of  faith  which  is  most  conducive 
to  social  order,  namely,  the  belief  in  future  recompense, 

—  the  only  belief  which  can  make  mankind  accept  their 
misery.  The  hope  of  winning  eternal  happiness  helps 
the  parents  of  these  poor  creatures,  and  the  friends  who 


26  The  Country  Doctor. 

surround  them,  to  practise,  on  a  lifelong  scale,  the  provi- 
dence of  motherhood  in  the  sublime  care  unceasingly 
given  to  these  inert  beings,  who,  in  the  first  place,  can- 
not understand  it,  and,  in  the  next,  forget  it.  All-wise 
religion  !  which  has  placed  the  mercies  of  a  blind  benefi- 
cence beside  the  miseries  of  a  blind  affliction.  In  the 
valleys  where  the  cretins  are  found,  the  inhabitants  be- 
lieve that  the  presence  of  such  beings  brings  happiness 
to  their  families.  This  belief  renders  those  hapless  lives 
eas}T  in  their  country  solitudes,  whereas  in  cities  they 
would  be  condemned  by  mistaken  philanthropy  to  the 
discipline  of  hospitals.  In  the  upland  valley  of  the 
Isere,  where  they  abound,  the  cretins  live  in  the  open 
air  with  the  flocks,  which  they  are  trained  to  watch. 
They  are,  at  any  rate,  free  and  respected,  as  the  victims 
of  misfortune  should  be. 

Presently  the  village  church-bell  slowly  tolled  at  regu- 
lar intervals,  letting  the  faithful  know  that  death  was 
among  them.  Travelling  through  space,  the  pious 
thought  sounded  faintly  within  the  cottage  and  filled 
it  with  tender  sadness.  Numerous  steps  were  heard 
along  the  path,  and  seemed  to  denote  a  crowd,  though 
a  silent  one.  Then  the  chants  of  the  Church  rose  sud- 
denly, and  wakened  the  confused  ideas  which  swa}T  all 
souls,  even  the  most  sceptical,  forcing  them  to  surren- 
der the  mind  to  the  tender  modulations  of  the  human 
voice.  The  Church  was  coming  to  the  succor  of  the 
creature  that  knew  it  not.  The  curate  appeared,  pre- 
ceded by  the  cross  borne  by  a  choir-boy,  and  followed 
by  the  sacristan  bearing  the  holy-water,  and  by  about 
fifty  other  persons  —  men,  women,  and  children  —  who 
had  come  to  join  their  prayers  to  those  of  the  Church. 


TJie  Country  Doctor.  27 

The  doctor  and  soldier  looked  at  each  other  in  silence, 
and  withdrew  to  a  corner  of  the  room  to  make  way  for 
the  crowd,  who  knelt  down  within  and  without  the  cot- 
tage. During  the  consoling  ceremony  of  the  viaticum, 
celebrated  for  a  being  who  had  never  sinned,  bat  to 
whom  the  Christian  world  was  bidding  farewell,  the 
greater  number  of  the  homely  faces  showed  sincere 
emotion.  Tears  rolled  down  rough  cheeks  that  were 
cracked  bj*  the  sun  and  browned  by  outdoor  toil.  The 
feeling  of  voluntary  relationship  to  those  in  trouble  was 
a  simple  one.  There  were  none  in  the  village  who  did 
not  pity^  the  hapless  creature ;  none  who  would  not 
have  given  him  of  their  daily  bread :  had  he  not  found 
a  father  in  every  lad,  a  mother  in  even  the  merriest 
of  the  little  girls? 

"  He  is  dead,"  said  the  curate. 

The  words  caused  genuine  consternation.  The  wax 
tapers  were  lighted.  Several  persons  wished  to  pass 
the  night  beside  the  corpse.  Benassis  and  the  soldier 
left  the  cottage.  At  the  door,  some  peasants  stopped 
the  doctor,  and  said  to  him,  "  Ah  !  monsieur  le  maire, 
if  3Tou  were  not  able  to  save  him,  the  good  God  must 
indeed  have  wanted  him." 

"I  did  my  best,  my  children,"  answered  the  doctor. 
"You  can  hardly  imagine,  monsieur,"  he  added,  turn- 
ing to  Genestas,  when  the}"  were  a  few  steps  away  from 
the  deserted  village,  whose  last  inhabitant  had  just  died, 
"what  true  consolation  there  is  for  me  in  the  remark  of 
those  peasants.  Ten  }"ears  ago,  I  was  nearl}T  stoned 
to  death  in  this  ATillage,  now  abandoned,  but  then  in- 
habited b}-  thirty  families." 

Genestas  manifested  such  visible  curiosity  in  his  face 


28  The  Country  Doctor. 

and  gestures,  that  the  doctor  related  to  him,  as  they 
walked  along,  the  history  to  which  the  foregoing  is  a 
preparation. 

"Monsieur,  when  I  came  to  settle  here,  I  found  a 
dozen  or  more  cretins  in  this  part  of  the  district,"  said 
the  doctor,  turning  round  to  point  to  the  ruined  cottages. 
"  The  situation  of  this  hamlet,  in  a  hollow  with  no  cur- 
rent of  air,  near  a  torrent  formed  by  the  melting  snows, 
deprived  of  the  sun  which  only  shines  on  the  summit  of 
the  mountain,  is  especially  conducive  to  the  propagation 
of  this  frightful  malady.  The  laws  do  not  prevent  the 
pairing  of  these  unhappy  creatures,  who  are  protected 
here  by  a  superstition  whose  strength  was  at  first  un- 
known to  me,  which  I  began  03^  condemning,  but  which 
I  now  respect.  Cretinism  would  soon  have  spread  from 
this  little  nook  throughout  the  valley.  It  was  surely 
rendering  the  countryside  a  great  service  to  check  the 
spread  of  the  mental  and  plrysical  contagion.  And  3'et, 
notwithstanding  its  urgent  importance,  the  benefit  came 
near  costing  the  life  of  the  man  who  undertook  to  cany 
it  out.  Here,  as  in  other  social  spheres,  it  is  necessaiy, 
in  order  to  accomplish  an3T  reforms,  to  run  counter  not 
only  to  interests  but  to  something  far  more  difficult  to 
deal  with,  to  religious  ideas  which  have  grown  into  su- 
perstitions,—  the  most  indestructible  form  of  human 
thought. 

"  I  was  afraid  of  nothing.  I  asked,  in  the  first  place, 
to  be  appointed  ma3'or  of  the  district ;  that  was  granted  : 
then,  after  obtaining  the  verbal  consent  of  the  prefect, 
I  removed  a  number  of  these  poor  creatures  quietly,  by 
night  and  at  nxy  own  expense,  to  Aiguebelle  in  Savoie, 
where  ther^  are  many  others  of  their  kind,  and  where 


The  Country  Doctor,  29 

they  would  be  well  treated.  As  soon  as  this  act  of  hu- 
manity was  known  I  became  an  object  of  horror  to  the 
whole  population.  The  curate  preached  against  me. 
In  spite  of  my  efforts  to  explain  to  the  best  minds  in 
the  community  the  importance  of  removing  these  idiots, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  I  gave  my  services  gratuitously 
to  the  sick,  I  was  shot  at  from  the  cover  of  a  wood.  I 
went  to  see  the  Bishop  of  Grenoble,  and  asked  him  to 
change  the  curate.  Monseigneur  was  good  enough  to 
let  me  choose  a  priest  who  would  share  in  nry  work,  and 
I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  find  one  of  those  men  who 
really  seem  to  have  fallen  from  the  skies.  I  pursued 
my  course.  After  preparing  people's  minds,  I  sent 
away  b}r  night  six  more  cretins.  In  this  second  at- 
tempt I  was  supported  by  certain  persons  who  were 
under  obligations  to  me,  and  also  b}r  members  of  the 
common  council,  to  whose  economy  I  appealed,  by 
showing  them  how  costly  it  was  to  support  the  hapless 
creatures,  and  how  profitable  it  would  be  for  the  village 
to  take  their  lands  (to  which  the}'  had  no  title)  and  turn 
them  into  pastures,  of  which  the  community  was  much 
in  need. 

"The  prosperous  people  were  on  my  side,  but  the 
poor,  the  old  women,  the  children,  and  a  few  joig-headed 
fellows,  remained  hostile  to  me.  Unfortunately,  my  last 
exportation  was  not  complete.  The  cretin  whom  3-011 
have  just  seen  was  absent  from  his  home  at  the  time ; 
he  was  not  taken,  and  was  found  the  next  day  —  the 
last  of  his  kind  —  in  the  village,  where  there  still  re- 
mained a  few  families  whose  members,  though  nearly 
imbecile,  were,  so  far,  exempt  from  cretinism. 

"  I  wished  to  carry  out  my  plans,  and  I  went  one  day, 

\ 


30  The  Country  Doctor. 

in  official  clothes,  to  take  that  unfortunate  cretin  from 
his  cottage.  My  intention  was  guessed  as  soon  as  I 
left  my  own  door ;  the  friends  of  the  cretin  preceded 
me,  and  I  found  at  the  cottage  an  assemblage  of  women, 
children,  and  old  men,  who  received  me  with  insults  and 
a  shower  of  stones.  In  the  midst  of  the  uproar,  when 
I  was  really  in  danger  of  falling  a  victim  to  the  sort  of 
intoxication  which  seizes  upon  a  crowd  of  people  when 
excited  by  cries  and  by  the  agitation  of  emotions  uttered 
in  common,  I  was  saved  bjT  the  cretin  !  The  poor  crea- 
ture came  out  of  the  hut,  made  his  clucking  noise,  and 
became  at  once  the  supreme  head  of  the  fanatics.  At 
this  apparition  the  cries  ceased.  It  occurred  to  me  to 
propose  a  compromise  ;  which  the  fortunate  hush  en- 
abled me  to  explain.  My  supporters  had  not  dared  to 
sustain  me  openly  at  this  crisis ;  their  help  was  purely 
passive.  The  superstitious  crowd  were  resolved  to  keep 
their  last  idol  and  watch  over  him.  I  saw  it  was  im- 
possible to  take  him  from  them.  I  therefore  promised 
to  leave  him  in  peace  in  his  cottage,  on  condition  that 
no  one  entered  it,  and  that  all  the  families  of  the  village 
should  cross  the  torrent  and  take  up  their  abode  in  cer- 
tain new  houses,  which  I  pledged  myself  to  build  and  to 
endow  with  land,  the  price  of  which  should  be  returned 
to  me  later  by  the  township. 

tfc  Well,  my  dear  monsieur,  it  took  me  six  months  to 
overcome  the  resistance  which  was  made  to  the  terms  of 
this  agreement,  advantageous  as  it  was  to  the  families 
of  the  old  village.  The  affection  of  the  peasantry  for 
their  hovels  is  an  inexplicable  fact.  No  matter  how 
unhealthy  his  cottage  may  be,  the  peasant  is  more  at- 
tached to  it  than  a  banker  is  to  his  mansion.     Why? 


The  Country  Doctor.  31 

I  cannot  tell  3*011.  Perhaps  the  strength  of  feelings  is 
in  proportion  to  their  rarity.  Perhaps  the  man  who 
lives  little  in  thought  lives  much  in  things,  and  the  less 
of  them  he  possesses  the  more  he  loves  what  he  has. 
Possibly  it  is  with  a  peasant  as  it  is  with  a  prisoner ; 
he  does  not  fritter  awa}*  the  powers  of  his  mind,  he  con- 
centrates them  on  a  single  idea,  and  comes  in  that  way 
to  great  energy  of  feeling. 

"  Excuse  these  reflections  in  a  man  who  is  seldom 
able  to  exchange  his  ideas,  and  pra}7  believe,  monsieur, 
that  I  am  not  much  given  to  abstract  thought.  Here, 
all  is  practice  and  action.  Alas,  the  fewer  ideas  these 
poor  people  have,  the  harder  it  is  to  make  them  under- 
stand their  real  interests.  So  I  have  resigned  myself 
to  the  petty  details  of  my  enterprise.  Each  of  the  vil- 
lagers said  to  me  the  same  thing,  —  a  thing  so  full  of 
plain  sense  as  to  admit  of  no  answer,  —  -  Ah !  mon- 
sieur, your  houses  are  not  yet  built.'  '  Well,'  I  an- 
swered, '  promise  to  come  and  live  in  them  when  they 
are  built.' 

"  Fortunately,  monsieur,  I  was  able  to  get  a  decision 
of  the  courts  to  the  effect  that  our  village  owns  the  whole 
mountain  on  which  it  stands,  and  at  the  foot  of  which  is 
the  old  hamlet,  now  deserted.  The  value  of  the  wood 
on  the  heights  was  enough  to  pay  for  the  houses,  which 
were  built  at  once.  When  the  first  of  my  refractories 
had  fairly  moved  in,  the  rest  followed.  The  comfort 
which  resulted  from  the  change  was  too  real  not  to  be 
appreciated  even  b}T  those  who  clung  most  superstitiously 
to  their  old  village  without  sun,  — that  is,  without  soul. 
The  end  of  the  matter  was,  that  the  acquisition  of  the 
mountain  as  communal  propert}*,  which  was  confirmed 


32  The  Country  Doctor. 

to  us  b}T  the  Council  of  State,  gave  me  great  importance 
in  the  district.  But  oh,  monsieur,  what  anxieties  !  "  said 
the  doctor,  lifting  a  hand  which  he  let  fall  again  with 
an  eloquent  gesture.  "I  alone  know  the  weary  way 
from  the  village  to  the  prefecture,  out  of  which  nothing 
can  be  got ;  and  from  the  prefecture  to  the  Council  of 
State,  into  which  nothing  can  be  made  to  enter. 

"  However,"  he  resumed,  "  peace  be  with  the  powers 
that  be !  they  yielded  at  last  to  m}^  importunities,  and 
that  is  a  great  deal  to  sa}^  for  them.  If  people  only 
knew  the  good  often  done  by  a  carelessly  given  signa- 
ture !  Monsieur,  two  years  after  attempting  my  great 
little  efforts  and  bringing  them  to  a  successful  conclu- 
sion, all  the  poor  households  of  m}T  district  owned  at 
least  two  cows  and  sent  them  to  pasture  on  the  moun- 
tain, where,  without  waiting  for  the  decision  of  the 
Council  of  State,  I  had  cut  transversal  irrigations  like 
those  in  Auvergne,  Limousin,  and  Switzerland.  The 
villagers,  to  their  great  surprise,  saw  excellent  mead- 
ows springing  up,  by  which  they  obtained  a  greater 
quantit\-  of  milk,  thanks  to  the  better  quality  of  the 
grass.  The  results  of  this  triumph  were  great.  Everj-- 
one  imitated  my  system  of  irrigation.  The  pastures, 
the  cattle,  and  all  their  products  multiplied.  From  that 
time  I  no  longer  feared  to  ameliorate  the  condition  of 
this  little  corner  of  the  earth,  still  so  uncultivated,  or  to 
civilize  its  inhabitants,  who,  up  to  that  time,  were  almost 
wholl}'  devoid  of  intelligence.  Ah,  monsieur,  we  soli- 
taries are  great  talkers  ;  if  anybod}'  questions  us,  no 
one  knows  where  the  reply  will  end. 

"  When  I  came  to  this  valley  the  population  was 
seven  hundred  souls ;  now  it  is  two  thousand.     After 


The  Country  Doetor.  33 

a  steady  course  of  mild,  but  firm  government,  I  became 
the  oracle  of  my  people.  I  did  all  I  could  to  deserve 
their  confidence  without  asking  for  it,  or  seeming  to 
desire  it :  only,  I  endeavored  to  inspire  respect  for  my 
person  Iry  the  religious  good  faith  with  which  I  fulfilled 
all  my  engagements,  even  the  most  trifling.  After 
pledging  myself  to  take  care  of  the  poor  creature  who 
has  just  died,  I  watched  over  him  better  than  his  former 
protectors  ever  did ;  he  has  been  fed  and  cared  for  as 
the  adopted  child  of  the  village  commune.  Later  on, 
the  inhabitants  grew  to  understand  the  service  I  had 
done  them  against  their  will.  However,  they  still  retain 
part  of  their  old  superstition,  and  I  am  far  from  blam- 
ing them.  Their  worship  of  the  cretin  has  often  served 
me  as  a  text  to  persuade  persons  of  intelligence  to  help 
the  unfortunate.  But  here  we  are,"  added  Benassis, 
after  a  pause,  as  they  came  in  sight  of  the  roof  of  his 
house. 

So  far  from  expecting  words  of  praise  or  acknowl- 
edgment from  his  visitor,  he  seemed,  in  relating  this 
episode  of  his  official  life,  to  have  yielded  to  that  in- 
genuous need  of  expression  which  is  often  felt  Iry 
persons   who  live  retired  from  the  world. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  captain,  "I  have  taken  the 
libertj'  to  put  my  horse  in  your  stable,  and  I  hope 
you  will  excuse  me  when  you  know  the  object  of  my 
journe}\" 

"  Ah!  what  is  it?"  asked  Benassis,  with  the  air  of 
a  man  who  leaves  his  own  preoccupation  and  recollects 
that  his  companion  is  a  stranger. 

His  naturally  frank  and  communicative  nature  had 
led  him  to  treat  Genestas  as  an  acquaintance. 

3 


34  The  Country  Doctor. 

"Monsieur,"  answered  the  soldier,  "  I  have  heard  of 
the  wonderful  cure  you  made  in  the  case  of  Monsieur 
Gravier  of  Grenoble,  whom  you  took  into  your  house. 
I  come  here  in  hopes  of  obtaining  the  same  care  ;  though 
without  having  the  same  claim  upon  your  kindness. 
And  yet,  perhaps  you  will  think  I  have  some  title  to  it. 
I  am  an  old  soldier,  whose  former  wounds  give  him 
little  rest.  You  will  need  at  least  a  week  to  examine 
into  my  condition ;  for  my  sufferings  occur  only  at 
intervals  and  —  " 

"  Well,  monsieur,"  said  Benassis,  interrupting  him; 
u  Monsieur  Gravier's  bedroom  is  always  read}*.    Come." 

They  entered  the  house,  and  the  doctor  slammed  the 
door  with  an  eagerness  that  Genestas  attributed  to  his 
pleasure  at  getting  a  lodger. 

"  Jacquotte !"  cried  Benassis,  "this  gentleman  will 
dine  here." 

"But,  monsieur,"  said  the  soldier,  "had  we  not 
better  settle  the  price  ?  " 

"  Price  of  what?" 

"  Of  my  board.  You  cannot  take  me  and  my  horse 
without  —  " 

"  If  you  are  rich,"  said  Benassis,  "  you  can  pay  me  ; 
if  }<ou  are  not,  I  want  nothing." 

"  Nothing  seems  to  me  too  dear,"  said  Genestas. 
"  But,  whether  I  am  rich  or  poor,  will  ten  francs  a  da}*, 
not  counting  the  value  of  your  professional  services,  be 
agreeable  to  }Tou  ?  " 

"  Nothing  is  more  disagreeable  to  me  than  to  receive 
an}r  payment  whatever  for  the  pleasure  of  exercising 
hospitality,"  answered  the  doctor,  frowning.  "  As  to 
my  services,  you    can  have  them   only  if  I  like  }*ou. 


The  Country  Doctor.  35 

Rich  people  cannot  buy  my  time  ;  it  belongs  to  the 
inhabitants  of  this  valley.  I  desire  neither  fame  nor 
fortune  ;  I  ask  for  no  praise  and  no  gratitude  from 
my  patients.  The  money  which  you  give  me  will  go  to 
the  apothecaries  at  Grenoble  to  pay  for  the  indispens- 
able medicines  of  the  poor  of  this  district." 

Any  one  hearing  these  words,  which  were  said 
brusquely  yet  without  bitterness,  would  have  thought, 
as  Genestas  did,  "  The  man  has  a  fine  nature  !  " 

"  Then,  monsieur,"  said  the  captain,  with  his  usual 
tenacity  of  purpose,  "I  will  pay  you  ten  francs  a  day ; 
and  you  shall  do  as  you  like  for  the  rest.  That  settled, 
we  shall  understand  each  other  better,"  he  added,  tak- 
ing the  doctor's  hand  and  shaking  it  with  impressive 
cordiality.  "  In  spite  of  my  ten  francs,  you  will  find 
that  I  am  not  an  Arab." 

After  this  dispute,  in  which  Benassis  showed  no  dis- 
position to  appear  generous  or  philanthropic,  the  pre- 
tended invalid  entered  the  house  of  his  physician, 
where  everything  seemed  in  keeping  with  the  dilapi- 
dated gateway  and  the  clothing  of  its  owner.  Even 
trifles  revealed  a  profound  indifference  to  all  that 
was  not  essentially  useful.  Benassis  took  the  soldier 
through  the  kitchen  as  the  shortest  way  to  the  dining- 
room.  Though  the  kitchen,  as  smoke-stained  as  that 
of  an  inn,  was  provided  with  a  sufficient  number  of 
cooking  utensils,  such  luxury  was  owing  to  Jacquotte, 
formerly  the  curate's  servant,  who  now  reigned  su- 
preme over  the  doctor's  household,  and  always  spoke 
lof  "us."  If  a  warming-pan  was  suspended  over  the 
mantel-shelf,  it  is  probable  that  Jacquotte  liked  to  sleep 
comfortably  in  winter,  and  so,  by  ricochet,  warmed  her 


36  The  Country  Doctor. 

master's  bed  ;  for  he,  as  she  said  truly,  "  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  anything."  Benassis  had  hired  her  for  precisely 
what  would  have  seemed  an  intolerable  defect  to  any 
one  else.  Jacquotte  wished  to  rule  the  house,  and  the 
doctor  wanted  a  woman  who  would  rule  his  house. 
Jacquotte  bought,  sold,  arranged,  changed,  placed, 
and  displaced  everything  according  to  her  own  good 
pleasure.  Her  master  never  objected  to  an}T  of  her 
doings ;  she  ruled  over  the  courtyard,  the  stable,  and 
the  stable-man,  the  kitchen,  the  garden,  and  the  mas- 
ter. The  linen  was  changed,  the  washing  was  done, 
the  provisions  were  stored  by  her  orders.  She  decided 
when  the  pigs  were  to  be  killed,  scolded  the  gardener, 
chose  the  breakfasts  and  dinners,  ranged  from  cellar  to 
garret  and  from  garret  to  cellar,  and  swept  every- 
thing before  her,  without  ever  finding  any  one  to  op- 
pose her.  Benassis  required  but  two  things,  —  dinner 
at  six  o'clock,  and  to  spend  no  more  than  a  certain  sum 
monthly.  A  woman  whom  everybody  obeys  is  always 
happy ;  accordingly,  Jacquotte  laughed  and  sang  like  a 
nightingale,  upstairs  and  down,  humming  when  she  did 
not  sing,  and  singing  when  she  did  not  hum.  Clean  by 
nature,  she  kept  the  house  clean.  She  used  to  say  that 
if  her  own  taste  had  been  different  Monsieur  Benassis 
would  have  been  very  miserable,  for  the  poor  man  took 
so  little  notice  of  what  he  ate  that  she  could  serve 
cabbages  for  partridges  and  he  would  never  know  it ; 
and  if  it  were  not  for  her,  he  would  wear  a  shirt  a 
week.  Jacquotte  was  an  indefatigable  ironer  of  linen, 
by  nature  a  rubber  of  furniture,  the  devotee  of  a  clean- 
liness that  was  truly  ecclesiastical,  —  the  most  scru- 
pulous, shining,  and  sweet-smelling  cleanliness  in  the 


The  Country  Doctor.  37 

world.  The  sworn  enemy  of  dust,  she  dusted,  swept, 
and  garnished  incessantly.  The  condition  of  the  gate- 
way caused  her  real  distress.  For  ten  years  past,  she 
had  extracted  from  her  master  on  the  first  of  every 
month  a  promise  to  make  the  gate  as  good  as  new,  to 
paint  the  walls  of  the  house,  and  otherwise  renew 
things  "  prettily  ;  "  and,  so  far,  Monsieur  had  not  kept 
his  word.  Therefore,  whenever  she  deplored  her  mas- 
ter's profound  indifference  to  his  own  affairs,  she  sel- 
dom failed  to  utter  this  sacramental  phrase,  with  which 
she  wound  up  all  her  praises  of  her  master :  — 

"  It  can't  be  said  that  he  is  actually  stupid,  because 
he  has  almost  performed  miracles  in  the  neighborhood  ; 
but  for  all  that,  he  is  stupid  sometimes,  —  so  stupid 
that  you  've  got  to  put  things  into  his  hands  as  if  he 
were  a  baby." 

Jacquotte  loved  the  house  as  though  it  belonged  to 
her.  When  Benassis  came  to  the  village,  it  happened 
to  be  for  sale  after  the  death  of  its  former  occupant, 
the  curate,  and  he  bought  it  as  it  stood,  —  house,  and 
ground,  furniture,  crockery,  wine,  chickens,  the  old 
clock  with  a  painted  dial,  the  horse,  and  the  cook. 
Jacquotte,  a  pattern  for  the  culinary  species,  had  a 
thick  waist  and  large  bosom,  clothed  invariably  in 
brown  calico  with  red  spots,  which  was  fastened  so 
tightly  that  the  stuff  seemed  in  danger  of  cracking  if 
she  made  the  slightest  exertion.  She  wore  a  plaited, 
round  cap,  beneath  which  her  rather  pallid  face,  with 
its  double  chin,  seemed  whiter  than  it  really  wras. 
Short  and  active,  with  brisk,  plump  hands,  Jacquotte 
wras  a  loud  and  continual  talker.  If  she  was  silent  for 
a  moment  and  lifted  the   corner  of  her  apron  triangu- 


38  The  Country  Doctor. 

larly,  it  meant  that  she  was  about  to  address  some 
vehement  remonstrance  to  her  master  or  the  man- 
servant. Of  all  the  cooks  throughout  the  kingdom, 
Jacquotte  was  certainly  the  happiest.  To  make  her 
happiness  as  complete  as  any  happiness  can  be  in  this 
lower  world,  her  vanity  was  perpetually  satisfied  ;  the 
village  accepted  her  as  an  authority  whose  powers  com- 
bined those  of  the  mayor  and  the  garde-champetre. 

Her  master,  entering  the  kitchen,  found  no  one  there. 

"Where  the  devil  have  they  gone  !  "  he  said.  "  Ex- 
cuse me,"  he  added,  turning  to  Genestas,  "  for  bringing 
3'ou  in  this  way.  The  ceremonious  entrance  is  through 
the  garden,  but  I  am  so  little  used  to  receiving  com- 
pany that  —     Jacquotte  !  " 

At  the  name,  imperiously  uttered,  a  woman's  voice 
answered  from  the  interior  of  the  house  ;  and  a  moment 
later  Jacquotte  took  the  offensive,  and  herself  called 
Benassis,  who  immediately  went  to  her  in  the  dining- 
room. 

"Here  it  is  again,  monsieur!"  she  said;  "3*011  are 
alwa}'s  doing  these  things  !  You  invite  people  to  dinner 
without  letting  me  know,  and  you  think  everything  can 
be  served  up  when  you  call  Jacquotte  !  What  did  3-011 
take  the  gentleman  into  the  kitchen  for?  The  salon 
could  have  been  opened  and  a  fire  lighted ;  Nicolle  is 
there  now  and  will  soon  have  it  all  ready.  Now,  please 
take  your  gentleman  into  the  garden,  it  will  amuse  him  ; 
and  if  he  likes  pretty  things,  show  him  the  mountain- 
ash  allej*  of  the  late  master ;  and  then  I  shall  have 
time  to  get  the  dinner  ready,  and  set  the  table,  and  see 
about  the  salon." 

"Yes.     But,  Jacquotte,''  continued  Benassis,  "the 


The  Country  Doctor.  39 

gentleman  is  going  to  stay  here.  You  must  give  an 
eye  to  Monsieur  Gravier's  bedroom,  and  see  to  the 
sheets  and  all  that,  and  —  " 

"Now  don't  go  and  meddle  about  sheets  and  things,"/ 
said  Jacquotte.  "  If  he  is  going  to  sleep  here  I  know 
perfectly  well  what  he  wants.  You  have  n't  been  in- 
side Monsieur  Gravier's  room  these  six  months.  There 's 
nothing  to  be  done  there  ;  it  is  as  clean  as  —  So  the 
gentleman  is  really  going  to  stay  here  ?  "  she  added,  in 
a  softened  tone. 

"Yes." 

"For  long?" 

"Faith,  I  don't  know.  What  does  that  signify  to 
you?" 

"  What  does  it  signify,  monsieur?  Ha,  I  like  that !  as 
if  it  did  n't  signify  !    How  about  the  provisions,  and  —  " 

Without  continuing  the  flood  of  words  with  which  on 
any  other  occasion,  she  would  have  overwhelmed  her 
master  in  reproach  for  his  lack  of  confidence,  she  fol- 
lowed him  into  the  kitchen.  Guessing  that  a  boarder 
was  in  prospect,  she  was  impatient  to  see  Genestas,  to 
whom  she  made  an  obsequious  courtes}'  while  examining 
him  from  head  to  foot.  The  soldier's  face  had,  at  the 
moment,  a  sad  and  thoughtful  expression,  which  gave 
him  a  harsh  appearance  ;  the  colloquy  between  master 
and  maid  seemed  to  him  to  reveal  the  former  as  a  non- 
entity, and  to  lessen,  much  to  his  regret,  the  high  opin- 
ion he  had  begun  to  form  of  his  character  while  admir- 
ing his  persistency  in  saving  the  little  valley  from  the 
horrors  of  cretinism. 

' '  He  does  n't  please  me  at  all,  that  man  !  "  thought 
Jacquotte. 


40  The  Country  Doctor. 

"  If  you  are  not  tired,  monsieur,"  said  the  doctor  to 
his  pretended  patient,  "  we  will  take  a  turn  round  the 
garden  before  dinner." 

"  Willingly,"  replied  the  captain. 

They  crossed  the  dining-room,  and  went  to  the  garden 
through  a  sort  of  antechamber  formed  at  the  bottom  of 
the  staircase,  which  separated  the  dining-room  from  the 
salon.  This  room  had  a  large  glass-door  and  opened 
on  a  stone  terrace  that  ran  along  the  facade  of  the 
house  on  the  garden  side.  The  garden  itself,  divided 
into  four  large  equal  squares  by  paths,  bordered  with 
box  which  outlined  a  cross,  terminated  at  the  farther 
end  in  a  thick  group  of  mountain-ash  trees,  the  pride  of 
the  former  proprietor.  The  captain  sat  down  on  a 
worm-eaten  bench,  without  noticing  the  grape-vine  trel- 
lises, nor  the  espaliers,  nor  the  vegetables ;  of  which 
Jacquotte  took  the  greatest  care,  having  been  trained 
to  it  by  the  ecclesiastical  gourmand  to  whom  the  house 
owed  its  precious  garden,  —  which  Benassis  himself 
cared  little  for. 

Suddenly  breaking  off  the  conversation  on  ordinary 
topics  in  which  they  were  now  engaged,  Genestas  said 
to  the  doctor  :  — 

"  How  did  you  manage,  monsieur,  to  triple  the  popu- 
lation of  this  valley  in  ten  years?  You  found  seven 
hundred  souls,  and  now  have,  as  you  tell  me,  more 
than  two  thousand." 

"  You  are  the  first  person  who  has  asked  me  that 
question,"  answered  the  doctor.  "  Though  my  aim  has 
been  to  make  this  little  corner  of  the  earth  as  produc- 
tive as  possible,  yet  the  hurry  of  my  busy  life  has  left 
me   little   leisure   to   reflect  upon  the  methods  I  have 


The  Country  Doctor.  41 

employed  to  make,  on  a  large  scale,  what  the  mendicant 
friar  called  a  species  of '  pebble  soup.'  Monsieur  Gravier 
himself,  one  of  our  benefactors,  and  to  whom  I  was  able 
to  render  a  service  by  curing  him,  never  once  thought 
of  the  theory  of  the  thing,  as  he  followed  me  across  hill 
and  vale  to  see  the  practical  results." 

They  were  silent  for  a  moment,  during  which  Benas- 
sis  was  buried  in  thought,  without  noticing  the  piercing 
look  with  which  his  guest  tried  to  penetrate  him. 

"  How  was  it  done,  my  dear  monsieur  ?  "  he  resumed  ; 
"  why,  naturally  and  by  virtue  of  the  social  law  of  at- 
traction between  the  necessities  we  create  and  the  means 
of  satisfying  them.  That's  the  secret  of  it.  People 
without  wants  are  poor.  When  I  came  to  settle  here, 
there  were  one  hundred  and  thirty  peasant  families  in 
this  village,  and  two  hundred  down  there  in  the  valley. 
The  authorities  were  in  keeping  with  the  general  pov- 
erty ;  there  was  a  mayor  who  did  not  know  how  to  write  ; 
the  assistant-ma3'or  was  a  farmer  residing  a  long  dis- 
tance from  the  township ;  the  justice  of  the  peace,  a 
poor  devil  living  on  his  salary,  and  forced  by  ignorance 
to  leave  the  drawing  up  of  deeds  and  documents  to  his 
clerk,  who  was  another  unfortunate  hardly  able  to  under- 
stand his  business.  The  former  parish  priest  died  at  the 
age  of  seventy,  and  his  vicar,  a  man  without  education, 
had  succeeded  him.  These  persons  comprised  the  whole 
intelligence  of  the  community  which  the}'  governed.  In 
the  midst  of  this  beautiful  nature  the  inhabitants  were 
sunk  in  degradation ;  they  lived  on  potatoes,  and  milk 
and  its  products.  The  cheeses,  which  most  of  them  car- 
ried to  Grenoble  and  its  environs  in  little  baskets,  were 
the  only  produce  from  which  they  were  able  to  derive 

UNIVERSITY 
CA 


42  The  Country  Doctor. 

a  trifling  amount  of  money.  Those  who  were  most  pros- 
perous, or  least  lazy,  sowed  a  little  buckwheat  for  con- 
sumption in  the  village,  sometimes  barley  or  oats  ;  never 
any  wheat.  The  only  trade  in  the  whole  community 
was  that  of  the  mayor,  who  owned  a  saw-mill,  and 
bought  felled  trees  at  a  low  price,  which  he  cut  up.  The 
lack  of  roads  compelled  him  to  transport  them  one 
by  one  during  the  fine  weather,  by  means  of  a  chain 
fastened  at  one  end  to  the  harness  of  a  horse,  and  at 
the  other  by  an  iron  grapnel  to  the  tree  itself.  To 
reach  Grenoble  either  on  foot  or  on  horseback,  it  was 
necessary  to  follow  the  crest  of  the  mountain,  the  valley 
being  impassable.  The  land  from  here  to  the  first  vil- 
lage which  you  saw  as  you  entered  the  district,  and  the 
pretty  road  by  which  I  suppose  you  came,  was  at  all 
seasons  a  vast  swamp. 

"  No  political  event,  no  revolution,  had  ever  pene- 
trated this  inaccessible  valley,  completely  shut  away 
from  all  social  movement.  Napoleon's  name  alone  had 
reached  it ;  and  here  that  name  was  a  religion,'  thanks 
to  two  or  three  old  soldiers  who  belonged  to  the  country- 
side and  had  returned  to  their  former  hearths,  telling 
fabulous  tales  of  the  emperor  and  his  armies  to  the  sim- 
ple folk  in  the  winter  evenings.  The  return  of  these 
men  to  their  native  valle}T  is  an  almost  inexplicable  fact. 
Before  my  arrival,  the  recruits  who  went  to  the  army 
stayed  there.  This  alone  shows  the  poverty  of  the  re- 
gion so  plainly  as  to  relieve  me  of  picturing  it  to  3rou. 

"  Such,  monsieur,  was  the  condition  of  the  district 
when  I  took  charge  of  it  and  of  certain  of  its  dependen- 
cies tying  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains,  which 
latter  are  well  cultivated,  tolerably  happy,  and  almost 


The  Country  Doctor.  43 

rich.  I  will  not  tell  you  of  the  hovels,  actual  stables, 
where  man  and  beast  were  huddled  together  pell-mell. 
I  passed  through  the  village  for  the  first  time  on  my 
way  from  La  Grande  Chartreuse.  Not  finding  any 
inn,  I  was  obliged  to  sta}-  with  the  vicar,  who  occu- 
pied this  very  house,  which  was  then  for  sale.  B3' 
putting  question  after  question,  I  obtained  a  superficial 
knowledge  of  the  deplorable  condition  of  this  region, 
whose  delightful  climate,  excellent  soil,  and  fine  natural 
productions  had  enchanted  me. 

"  Monsieur,  I  was  seeking  to  make  myself  a  life 
other  than  the  one  sorrows  had  made  a  burden  to  me. 
A  thought  entered  my  heart  such  as  God  sends  to  make 
us  willing  to  bear  our  griefs.  I  resolved  to  instruct  and 
raise  this  corner  of  the  earth,  as  a  teacher  brings  up  a 
child.  Do  not  call  it  benevolence  ;  nry  motive  was  the 
need  I  felt  to  distract  my  mind.  I  wanted  to  spend 
the  remainder  of  nry  days  in  some  arduous  enterprise. 
The  changes  to  be  introduced  into  this  region,  which 
nature  had  made  so  rich  and  man  had  made  so  poor, 
would  occupy  my  whole  life ;  they  attracted  me  03*  the 
very  difficulty  of  bringing  them  about.  As  soon  as  I 
was  sure  of  buying  the  parsonage-house  together  with  a 
good  deal  of  barren  and  unprofitable  ground  at  a  low 
price,  I  vowed  myself  solemnly  to  the  life  of  a  country 
doctor,  —  the  last  life  a  man  would  choose  among  his 
own  people.  I  wished  to  be  a  friend  to  the  poor,  ex- 
pecting nothing  in  return.  I  allowed  myself  no  illu- 
sions, either  as  to  the  character  of  the  country-people 
or  the  obstacles  which  hinder  those  who  attempt  to 
ameliorate  both  men  and  things.  I  made  no  idyls 
about  my  poor ;    I  took  them  for  what  the}'  were,  — 


44  The  Country  Doctor. 

ignorant  peasants,  neither  altogether  good  nor  alto- 
gether bad  ;  kept  by  constant  toil  from  the  exercise  of 
feeling,  and  }Tet  able  at  times  to  feel  keenly.  Above 
all,  I  saw  that  I  must  act  upon  them  through  their  in- 
terests and  their  immediate  well-being.  The  peasantry 
are  true  sons  of  Saint  Thomas  the  incredulous :  they 
want  facts  to  support  words. 

"You  will,  perhaps,  smile  at  my  first  steps,  mon- 
sieur," resumed  the  doctor,  after  a  pause.  "  I  began 
the  difficult  enterprise  by  the  manufacture  of  baskets. 
These  poor  people  bought  at  Grenoble  the  little  wicker 
crates  in  which  the}'  keep  their  cheeses.  I  suggested 
to  an  intelligent  young  man  the  idea  of  cultivating  the 
banks  of  the  mountain  torrent,  —  a  large  tract  of  alluvial 
soil  which  the  freshets  3'early  enriched,  and  where  osiers 
would  readily  grow.  After  computing  the  amount  of 
basket-work  which  the  district  yearly  required,  I  searched 
Grenoble  for  a  joung  basket-maker  without  pecuniary 
prospects,  but  a  clever  workman.  When  I  found  the 
right  man,  I  easily  persuaded  him  to  settle  here,  prom- 
ising to  advance  the  cost  of  purchasing  osier  until  my 
plantations  were  sufficiently  grown  to  furnish  it.  I  in- 
duced him  to  sell  his  baskets  below  the  price  asked  for 
them  at  Grenoble,  and  at  the  same  time  to  make  them 
of  better  quality.  He  entered  into  my  ideas.  The  cul- 
tivation of  the  osier-beds  and  the  basket  manufactory 
were,  at  first,  a  speculation,  whose  results  could  not  be 
reached  in  less  than  four  }Tears.  You  know,  perhaps, 
that  the  osier  is  not  fit  to  cut  until  the  third  3'ear.  Dur- 
ing his  first  season,  my  basket-maker  contrived  to  make 
enough  to  feed  him.  He  soon  after  married  a  woman 
of  Saint-Laurent  du  Pont,  who  had  some  rnoney.     With 


The  Country  Doctor.  45 

that  he  built  himself  a  good  and  aiiy  house  in  a  healthy 
situation,  whose  interior  was  arranged  according  to  my 
advice. 

"  What  a  triumph,  monsieur  !  I  had  created  a  village 
industry ;  I  had  set  to  work  a  producer  and  a  number 
of  workmen.  You  will  think  my  delight  childish  ;  but 
the  first  few  days  after  the  manufactory  was  under  way 
I  could  not  pass  before  the  shop  without  a  quickening 
of  my  pulses  ;  and  when,  inside  the  new  house  with  its 
green  blinds,  a  bench  before  its  door,  a  grape-vine,  and 
bundles  of  osiers,  I  saw  a  clean  woman,  neatly  dressed, 
suckling  a  fat  and  rosy  child  in  the  midst  of  a  happy 
group  of  workmen,  who  were  singing  as  they  worked, 
and  deftly  plaiting  the  osier  under  orders  of  a  man 
who,  lately  poor  and  emaciated,  wras  now  glowing  with 
happiness,  then,  indeed,  monsieur,  I  could  not  resist 
being  a  basket-maker  nvyself  for  a  wiiile  ;  I  used  to 
enter  the  shop  to  inquire  how  they  were  getting  on,  and 
I  abandoned  myself  to  a  happiness  I  really  cannot  ex- 
plain to  }'ou.  I  was  joyful  with  the  joy  of  these  people 
and  with  1113^  own  joy. 

"The  house  of  the  master- workman,  the  first  man 
who  had  firmly  believed  in  me,  was  now  the  centre  of  my 
hopes.  Monsieur,  it  was  the  future  of  this  poor  country- 
side which  I  bore  upon  mj'  heart  as  the  wife  of  the  basket- 
maker  bore  her  first  babe  upon  her  bosom.  I  had  to 
keep  abreast  of  mairy  prejudices  and  run  counter  to 
many  ideas.  I  met  with  violent  opposition,  instigated 
by  the  ignorant  mayor  whose  office  I  had  taken.  His 
influence,  however,  vanished  before  mine,  and  I  resolved 
to  make  him  my  assistant,  and  associate  him  with  my 
beneHcent  labors.     Yes,  monsieur,  it  was  into  his  head, 


46  The  Country  Doctor. 

the  thickest  and  hardest  of  all,  that  I  first  endeavored 
to  shed  light.  I  captured  him  through  his  self-love  and 
his  self-interest.  For  six  months  we  dined  together 
daily,  and  I  made  him  share  in  my  plans  of  ameliora- 
tion. Man}*  persons  would  think  this  forced  friendship 
one  of  the  annoyances  of  my  task ;  not  so,  the  man  was 
a  necessary  instrument,  and  the  most  valuable  of  all. 
Ill-luck  to  him  who  despises  the  hatchet,  or  throws  it 
earelessry  aside !  And  besides,  how  inconsistent  to 
dream  of  reforming  a  region  of  country  and  yet  shrink 
from  the  idea  of  reforming  one  man  ! 

"  The  most  urgent  need  of  all  was  for  a  highway. 
If  we  obtained  from  the  municipal  council  the  right  to 
construct  a'  cross-road  between  the  village  and  the  main 
road  to  Grenoble,  my  assistant-mayor  would  be  the  first 
to  profit  by  it ;  for,  instead  of  dragging  his  trees  at 
great  expense  through  tangled  wood-paths,  he  could 
transport  them  easily  along  a  good  district  road,  and 
open  a  large  business  in  all  kinds  of  wood ;  b}T  which 
he  would  earn,  not  a  miserable  six  hundred  francs  a 
year,  but  round  sums  of  money  amounting  at  some 
future  day  to  a  settled  fortune.  At  last  the  man  was 
fully  convinced,  and  became  m}*  proselyte.  During  the 
whole  of  one  winter,  the  former  ma}*or  spent  his  even- 
ings at  a  wine-shop  among  friends,  explaining  to  them 
that  a  good  carriage-road  would  be  the  making  of  the 
country-side  b}<  enabling  everjbod}'  to  do  business  with 
Grenoble.  When  the  municipal  council  voted  to  make 
the  road,  I  obtained  from  the  prefect  an  advance  from 
the  charitable  funds  of  the  department,  so  as  to  pa}r  for 
certain  transportation  which  our  community  was  unable 
to   undertake  for  want  of  hand-carts.     To  finish  the 


The  Country  Doctor.  47 

great  work  rapidly,  and  get  its  results  at  once  appreci- 
ated by  ignorant  persons  who  accused  me  of  wishing  to 
restore  feudal  labor,  I  compelled,  every  Sunda\r  during 
the  first  year  of  my  administration,  the  entire  popula- 
tion, men,  women,  children,  and  even  old  men  to  go, 
whether  they  would  or  not,  to  the  crest  of  the  moun- 
tain, where  I  had  myself  surveyed  and  marked  out,  on 
excellent  soil,  the  road  which  now  leads  from  our  village 
to  the  highwa}T  to  Grenoble.  Abundant  material  for 
the  making  of  the  road  was  fortunately  found  along  its 
track. 

"  The  undertaking  required  my  utmost  patience. 
Some  persons,  ignorant  of  the  law,  objected  to  payment 
in  kind ;  others,  who  were  almost  starving,  could  not 
afford  to  lose  the  opportunity  of  an  extra  day's  work. 
I  had  to  pay  the  latter  at  once  by  distributing  wheat, 
and  soothe  the  former  as  best  I  could  with  amicable 
words.  However,  when  we  had  finished  two  thirds  of 
the  road,  which  is  about  five  miles  long,  the  villagers 
had  found  out  its  advantages  ;  and  the  last  third  was 
made  with  an  eagerness  which  really  surprised  me.  I 
enriched  the  future  of  the  village  by  planting  a  double 
row  of  poplars  along  the  lateral  ditches  on  either  side 
of  the  new  road.  These  trees  at  the  present  time  are 
almost  a  revenue,  besides  giving  a  stately  appearance 
to  the  road,  which  is  always  dry  by  reason  of  its  situa- 
tion, and  so  well  made  that  it  costs  scarcel}7  two  hun- 
dred francs  a  year  to  keep  it  in  repair.  I  will  show 
it  to  you,  for  you  may  not  have  seen  it ;  you  probably 
came  hy  the  pretty  lower  road,  —  a  route  the  inhabitants 
laid  out  for  themselves  about  three  years  ago,  to  open 
communication  with  various  establishments  since  set 


48  The  Country  Doctor. 

up  along  the  valley ;  thus  proving,  monsieur,  that  the 
common-sense  of  a  communit}^  once  so  unintelligent, 
has  acquired  ideas  which,  a  few  years  earlier,  a  trav- 
eller might  well  have  despaired  of  ever  inculcating. 

' '  But  to  go  on  with  my  story  :  —  The  establishment 
of  nry  basket-maker  was  a  fruitful  example  to  the  poor. 
Though  the  new  road  was  the  direct  cause  of  the  vil- 
lage prosperity,  }Tet  it  was  necessaiy  to  incite  various 
primitive  industries,  to  make  these  two  germs  of  pros- 
perity more  useful.  While  helping  the  man  with  the 
osier-beds,  and  the  basket-maker  with  his  trade,  and 
constructing  my  road,  I  quietly  continued  my  work 
in  other  directions.  I  had  two  horses,  my  associate 
the  wood-merchant,  had  three ;  we  could  only  have 
them  shod  when  we  went  to  Grenoble.  I  therefore 
persuaded  a  blacksmith,  who  knew  something  about 
the  veterinary  art,  to  come  here  under  promise  of  cer- 
tain work.  It  happened  that  on  the  same  clay  I  met 
an  old  soldier,  at  odds  with  fate,  whose  only  means 
of  living  was  a  pension  of  one  hundred  francs.  He 
knew  how  to  read  and  write,  and  I  gave  him  the  place 
of  clerk  at  the  mairie  /  by  a  lucky  chance,  I  found 
him  a  wife,  and  his  humble  dreams  of  happiness  were 
accomplished.  Monsieur,  I  had  to  provide  houses  for 
these  new-comers,  and  for  my  basket-maker,  and  for 
the  twenty-two  families  who  were  to  leave  the  village 
of  the  cretins.  Twelve  other  households,  whose  bread- 
winners were  workmen,  producers,  and  consumers,  ac- 
cordingly came  to  settle  here,  —  masons,  carpenters, 
tilers,  joiners,  locksmiths,  and  glaziers,  who  found 
work  for  some  time.  They  built  houses  for  themselves 
after  building  those  of  other  people ;   and  with  them 


The  Country  Doctor.  49 

came  additional  laborers.  In  the  second  year  of  my 
administration  seventy  new  houses  were  built  in  the 
district. 

"One  form  of  production  compelled  another.  In 
peopling  the  village  I  created  new  wants,  hitherto  un- 
known to  this  poverty-stricken  people.  Wants  led  to 
industries,  industries  to  commerce,  commerce  to  profits, 
profits  to  comfort,  comfort  to  beneficial  ideas.  These 
various  work-people  wanted  their  bread  ready-baked, 
and  we  got  a  baker.  Buckwheat  could  no  longer  be 
the  only  food  of  a  population  that  was  now  raised  from 
its  degrading  inertia  and  had  grown  essential^  active. 
I  had  found  it  eating  buckwheat ;  my  first  wish  was  to 
give  it  rye,  then  rje  and  wheat,  and  at  last,  some  day, 
to  see  the  poorest  of  these  people  eating  good  white 
bread.  |  To  my  mind,  intellectual  progress  depends  X 
entirely  on  sanitary  progress.  A  butcher  shows  the  f* 
intelligence  and  the  wealth  of  a  communit}'.  He  who 
works  eats,  and  he  who  eats  thinks.  /  Foreseeing  the 
day  when  the  cultivation  of  wheat  would  be  a  necessity, 
I  had  carefully  examined  the  qualities  of  the  soil.  I 
found  I  could  be  certain  of  launching  the  village  into 
great  agricultural  prosperity  and  doubling  its  popula- 
tion whenever  the  time  came  to  undertake  the  work. 

"  It  did  come.  Monsieur  Gravier  of  Grenoble  owned 
certain  property  in  the  district,  from  which  he  drew  no 
revenue,  but  which  might  easily  be  converted  into 
wheat-lands.  He  is,  as  you  know,  the  head  of  a  de- 
partment at  the  prefecture.  He  had  already  listened 
very  readily  to  my  suggestions.  As  much  from  attach- 
ment to  his  native  place  as  from  conviction  under  my 
arguments,  he  had  very  kindly  furthered  my  demands ; 

4 


\ 

•r 


50  The  Country  Doctor. 

I  succeeded  in  making  him  see  that  he  had  uncon- 
sciously served  his  own  interests.  After  several  days 
of  conferences,  debates,  and  persuasions,  and  after 
pledging  my  own  property  to  secure  him  against  the 
risks  of  an  enterprise  from  which  his  wife,  a  narrow- 
minded  woman,  tried  to  frighten  him,  he  consented  to 
set  up  four  farms  of  one  hundred  acres  each,  and  to 
advance  the  costs  of  clearing  the  land,  buying  seed- 
corn,  agricultural  implements,  oxen,  etc.,  and  making 
the  necessary  farm-roads.  I,  on  nry  part,  laid  out  two 
farms,  partly  to  cultivate  my  barren  and  unprofitable 
tract  of  land,  and  partly  to  teach,  b}'  example,  the  use- 
ful methods  of  modern  agriculture.  In  six  weeks  the 
village  population  increased  by  three  hundred  inhabi- 
tants. Six  farms,  where  several  families  settled,  large 
tracts  of  land  to  clear,  much  ploughing  and  tilling  to 
do,  of  course  brought  laborers.  Diggers,  wheelwrights, 
journeymen,  and  mechanics  flocked  in.  The  road  to 
Grenoble  was  alive  with  persons  coming  and  going, 
and  with  the  two-wheeled  carts  of  the  country-side. 
There  was  a  general  stir  of  life  on  all  sides.  The 
circulation  of  money  gave  birth  to  a  desire  to  make 
mone}T ;  apathy  was  past  and  gone  ;  the  village  had 
waked  up. 

"  I  will  end  nry  story  of  Monsieur  Gravier,  one  of  the 
benefactors  of  this  district,  in  two  words.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  distrust  commonly  felt  b}-  the  citizen  of  a  coun- 
try town  and  b}T  a  man  in  office,  and  relying  on  my 
promises,  he  advanced  more  than  forty  thousand  francs, 
without  any  certainty  of  recovering  them.  Each  of  his 
farms  is  now  let  for  a  thousand  francs ;  his  farmers 
have  done  so  well  that  all  of  them  own  at  least  a  him- 


The  Country  Doctor.  51 

dred  acres  of  land,  three  hundred  sheep,  twentjT  cows, 
ten  oxen,  five  horses  ;  and  each  gives  employment  to 
more  than  twenty  persons.  During  the  fourth  year 
our  farms  were  all  in  working  order.  We  had  a  wheat 
harvest  which,  abundant  as  it  naturally  was  on  virgin 
soil,  seemed  miraculous  to  the  country  people.  I  often 
trembled  for  the  success  of  my  work  during  that  year ! 
Rain  or  drought  might  ruin  it,  by  lessening  the  confi- 
dence I  was  then  beginning  to  inspire.  The  cultivation 
of  wheat  necessitated  the  flour-mill  you  have  just  seen  ; 
and  it  now  brings  me  in  five  hundred  francs  a  year. 
The  peasants  declare  that  luck  is  on  my  side,  and 
the}T  have  come  to  believe  in  me  as  firmly  as  in  their 
relics. 

"  These  new  enterprises,  the  farms,  the  mill,  the  osier- 
beds,  the  road-making,  have  given  employment  to  all 
the  trades  and  handicrafts  I  had  brought  here.  Though 
our  outlay  of  sixty  thousand  francs  is  amply  covered  by 
the  buildings  we  have  put  up,  3-et  the  money  has  been 
returned  to  us  by  the  profits  derived  from  consumers. 
My  efforts  to  keep  alive  all  budding  industries  are  never 
relaxed.  By  my  advice,  a  nurseiyman  settled  in  the 
hamlet,  and  I  preached  the  cultivation  of  fruit-trees  to 
ni}r  poor  villagers,  so  as  to  win  a  monopoly  of  the 
Grenoble  fruit-market  at  some  future  time.  '  You  take 
your  cheeses  there,'  I  said  to  them  ;  '  why  should  n't 
you  take  fruit,  vegetables,  chickens,  eggs,  game,  hay, 
straw,  etc.  ? '  Each  item  of  that  advice  was  the  source 
of  prosperity  to  those  who  followed  it.  Thus  a  multi- 
tude of  little  industries  sprang  up,  whose  progress, 
slow  at  first,  has  increased  rapidly  from  da}T  to  day. 
Every  Monda}'  morning  at  least  sixty  carts  go  to  Gren- 


52  The  Country  Doctor. 

oble  laden  with  our  various  produce ;  more  buckwheat 
is  now  cultivated  to  feed  the  chickens  than  was  for- 
merly cultivated  to  feed  the  population. 

"The  wood  business  became  too  large  for  one  estab- 
lishment, and  it  is  now  subdivided.  In  the  fourth  year 
of  our  industrial  era,  we  had  traders  in  fire-wood,  in 
planks  and  shingles,  in  bark ;  and  then,  coal  dealers. 
After  a  while  four  new  saw-mills  for  planks  and  joists 
were  started.  The  former  mayor,  in  acquiring  com- 
mercial ideas,  felt  the  need  of  knowing  how  to  read 
and  write.  He  compared  the  prices  of  wood  in  differ- 
ent localities,  and  found  such  differences,  all  in  favor 
of  his  own  enterprise,  that  he  gained  customers  in 
many  new  places,  and  supplies  to-day  nearly  a  third  of 
the  department.  Our  means  of  transportation  increased 
so  rapidly  that  we  now  employ  three  wheelwrights,  two 
harness-makers,  and  each  of  these  employs  not  less 
than  three  apprentices.  We  use  so  much  iron  that  a 
tool-maker  has  come  to  the  valle}^  and  finds  sufficient 
work.  The  hope  of  gain  soon  developed  ambitions 
which  drove  my  now  industrious  village  population  to 
compete  with  the  whole  district,  and  even  with  the 
department,  and  thus  increase  their  profits  by  increas- 
ing their  sales.  I  had  but  to  say  the  word  and  point 
the  way  to  fresh  markets  ;  their  own  good  sense  did  the 
rest.  Four  years  had  sufficed  to  change  the  whole 
aspect  of  the  village.  When  I  first  passed  through  it, 
I  heard  not  a  sound ;  but  by  the  beginning  of  the  fifth 
3Tear  all  was  life  and  animation.  Joyous  songs,  the 
noise  of  workshops,  the  sharp  or  dull  creaking  of  tools, 
sounded  delightfully  in  my  ears.  I  saw  a  busy  popula- 
tion coming  and  going,  and  settling  in  the  new  village, 


The  Country  Doctor.  53 

now  planted  with  trees,  and  where  everything  was 
clean  and  healthsome.  Every  inhabitant  had  a  sense 
of  his  own  well-being ;  every  face  was  bright  with  the 
contentment  that  a  busy,  useful  life  bestows. 

"  These  five  years  are  to  my  mind  the  first  era  in  the 
prosperous  life  of  our  valley,"  resumed  the  doctor  after 
a  pause.  "  During  that  time  I  had  cleared  the  ground, 
and  set  things  fructifying  in  the  heads  and  in  the  soil 
of  the  community.  The  onward  progress  of  the  popu- 
lation and  its  various  industries  could  not  now  be 
stopped.  A  second  era  was  about  to  open.  Soon  the 
little  society  wished  to  better  its  dress.  A  mercer  came 
among  us,  then  a  shoemaker,  a  tailor,  and  a  hatter. 
This  beginning  of  luxury  was  really  of  as  much  bene- 
fit as  the  butcher  and  the  grocer  had  been.  Next  a 
midwife  became  essential  to  my  practice,  for  I  was 
losing  much  time  with  my  lying-in  cases.  The  newly 
reclaimed  lands  gave  excellent  harvests,  and  the  superior 
qualit}^  of  our  agricultural  products  was  maintained  by 
the  various  kinds  of  manure  which  increase  of  popula- 
tion afforded.  My  undertaking  was  now  prepared  to 
develop  as  it  would  to  all  results. 

"  Having  bettered  the  sanitary  condition  of  the  dwell- 
ings, and  brought  the  inhabitants  gradually  to  eat  better 
food,  and  wear  better  clothes,  I  now  desired  that  the 
animals  might  reap  some  benefit  from  this  beginning  of 
civilization.  On  the  care  and  attention  given  to  cattle 
depends  the  beauty  of  breeds  and  of  individual  speci- 
mens ;  from  that  again  comes  the  value  of  their  produce  : 
accordingly,  I  preached  up  the  sanitary  improvement  of 
stables.  By  comparing  the  profits  derived  from  well- 
stalled,  well-groomed  beasts,  with  the  meagre  returns 


54  The  Country  Doctor. 

from  neglected  animals,  I  changed,  little  by  little,  the 
management  of  all  the  cattle  in  the  district :  not  a  single 
beast  continued  to  suffer.  The  cows  and  oxen  were 
cleaned  and  rubbed  down  as  they  are  in  Switzerland, 
and  in  Auvergne.  The  sheepfolds,  the  stables,  the 
cattle-pens,  the  dairies,  the  granaries,  were  remodelled 
after  my  own  buildings  and  those  of  Monsieur  Gravier, 
which  are  large  and  airy,  and  consequently  wholesome. 
The  farmers  became  apostles,  and  soon  converted  un- 
believers by  proving  the  soundness  of  m}r  precepts 
through  actual  results.  I  lent  money  to  those  who 
were  without  it,  — favoring,  more  especially,  the  indus- 
trious poor,  for  they  served  as  a  good  example.  By 
my  advice,  the  defective,  feeble,  or  inferior  beasts  were 
sold  and  replaced  b}r  fine  specimens ;  so  that  our  pro- 
duce, after  a  time,  carried  the  day  over  that  of  other 
districts  in  all  the  markets.  Our  flocks  and  herds  were 
magnificent,  therefore  the  hides  were  fine.  This  step  in 
our  progress  was  of  great  importance.  In  rural  economy 
nothing  is  fruitless.  Formerly  our  fleeces  brought  low 
prices,  and  our  hides  were  of  little  value  ;  but  when  their 
quality  improved,  tanners  took  advantage  of  the  moun- 
tain torrent  to  build  tan-mills,  and  the  business  grew 
rapidly. 

"  Good  wine,  an  article  formerly  unknown  in  the  vil- 
lage, where  they  drank  only  piquette,  made  of  refuse 
grape-skins  boiled  in  water,  now  became  a  necessit}*. 
Wine-shops  were  established.  The  first  of  them  has 
lately  been  enlarged  and  changed  into  an  inn,  where 
mules  are  supplied  to  travellers,  who  are  now  beginning 
to  take  our  road  on  their  way  to  the  Grande  Chartreuse. 
For  the  last  two  years  there  has  been  enough  business 


The  Country  Doctor.  55 

stir  to  keep  two  inns  going.  At  the  beginning  of  our 
second  era  of  prosperitj'  the  justice  of  peace  died.  Hap- 
pily for  us,  his  successor  was  a  former  notary  of  Gren- 
oble, ruined  by  an  unfortunate  speculation,  but  who  still 
had  enough  mone}'  to  be  rich  in  a  village ;  Monsieur 
Gravier  advised  him  to  come  here.  He  built  himself  a 
pretty  house,  and  seconded  my  efforts  by  joining  in  them. 
He  laid  out  a  farm,  and  cleared  the  land,  and  to-day  he 
has  three  chalets  on  the  mountain.  His  family  is  quite 
numerous.  He  got  rid  of  the  former  clerk  and  sheriff, 
and  replaced  them  by  men  who  are  much  better  edu- 
cated, and,  above  all,  much  more  industrious  than  their 
predecessors.  The  two  new  households  have  started  a 
distillery  of  potatoes,  and  a  wash-house  for  fleeces,  both 
useful  undertakings  which  the  heads  of  these  families 
superintend,  while  at  the  same  time  attending  to  their 
official  duties. 

"  As  soon  as  I  had  raised  a  revenue  for  the  district,  I 
emploj'ed  it,  without  opposition,  to  build  a  town-hall, 
part  of  which  I  used  for  a  free  school,  with  lodging- 
rooms  for  the  master.  For  that  important  function  I 
chose  an  unfortunate  sworn-in  priest,  cast  off  by  the 
whole  department,  who  found  an  as}'lum  for  his  old 
age  in  our  valley.  The  schoolmistress  is  an  excellent 
woman,  —  so  poor  that  she  scarcely  knew  which  way  to 
turn  ;  and  we  have  thus  helped  her  to  a  competence. 
She  has  lately  opened  a  boarding-school  for  girls, 
wrhere  the  well-to-do  farmers  are  beginning  to  send 
their  daughters. 

"Monsieur,  though  I  have  the  right  to  tell  you  the 
tale  of  this  little  corner  of  the  earth  in  my  own  name, 
there  is  a  point  where  Monsieur  Janvier,  the  new  curate, 


56  The  Country  Doctor. 

a  Fenelon  reduced  to  the  proportions  of  a  parish-priest, 
has  shared  with  me  in  the  work  of  regeneration ;  he 
has  been  able  to  infuse  a  gentle  and  fraternal  spirit 
into  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  country  side,  so 
that  the  population  seems  now  to  be  of  one  family. 
Monsieur  Dufau,  though  he  came  later,  also  deserves 
the  gratitude  of  the  community. 

"To  sum  up  our  present  position  by  figures,  which 
are  more  conclusive  than  any  remarks  of  mine,  the  vil- 
lage now  owns  two  hundred  acres  of  woodland  and  one 
hundred  and  sixt}^  acres  of  pasturage.  In  round  num- 
bers, it  is  able  to  pa}r  the  curate  an  additional  salaiy  of 
three  hundred  francs,  two  hundred  to  a  garde-champe- 
tre,  and  as  much  more  to  the  master  and  the  mistress 
of  the  free  school ;  it  has  five  hundred  francs  a  year  to 
keep  the  roads  in  order,  and  the  same  sum  for  repairing 
the  town-hall,  the  parsonage,  the  church,  and  for  other 
expenses.  In  fifteen  years  from  now  it  will  have  a  hun- 
dred thousand  francs'  worth  of  wood  to  cut  down  ;  and 
it  can  then  pay  its  assessments  without  calling  on  the 
inhabitants  for  a  farthing.  BjT  that  time  it  will  be  one 
of  the  richest  districts  in  France.  But  perhaps  I  am 
boring  you  with  all  this?"  said  Benassis,  noticing  the 
absorbed  and  thoughtful  attitude  of  his  listener,  which 
might  have  been  taken  for  inattention. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  replied  the  captain. 

"Monsieur,"  resumed  the  doctor,  "all  this  trade, 
industry,  agriculture,  and  consumption  of  produce  was, 
after  all,  only  local.  Our  prosperity  stopped  short  at 
a  certain  point.  To  be  sure,  I  applied  to  the  authori- 
ties for  a  post-office,  and  licenses  for  the  sale  of  tobacco, 
powder,  and  cards.    I  induced  the  collector  of  customs, 


The  Country  Doctor.  57 

through  the  charms  of  this  valley  and  our  new  social 
life,  to  leave  the  district  where  he  had  hitherto  dwelt  in 
preference  to  the  capital  of  the  department,  and  come 
to  us.  At  the  proper  time  and  place  I  imported  every 
commodity  for  which  I  had  roused  a  need.  I  brought 
in  new  families,  new  industrials,  and  let  them  acquire 
property  and  the  sense  of  proprietorship ;  thus,  as  soon 
as  they  had  earned  a  little  money,  they  cleared  their 
land.  Small  farms  and  holdings  spread  over  the  moun- 
tain, and  gradually  made  it  valuable.  The  poor  people 
whom  I  had  once  found  carrying  their  cheeses  on  foot 
to  Grenoble,  were  now  driving  their  carts,  laden  with 
fruit,  eggs,  chickens,  and  turkeys,  to  market.  All  were 
unconsciously  looking  up  in  the  world.  Those  who  were 
the  worst  off  had  their  gardens,  their  vegetables,  and 
their  fruits  to  cultivate;  and  —  this  being  a  sign  of 
prosperity  —  none  now  baked  their  own  bread,  regard- 
ing it  as  a  loss  of  time.  Even  the  children  were  busy 
watching  the  sheep  and  cattle. 

"But,  monsieur,  it  was  necessary  to  keep  up  the 
industrial  impetus,  and  bring  fresh  fuel  to  its  hearth. 
The  village  had  as  yet  no  perennial  industry  which  could 
lead  to  commercial  production,  and  so  necessitate  large 
transactions,  an  exchange,  and  a  market.  It  is  not 
enough  for  a  community  to  lose  none  of  the  wealth  it 
ma\-  possess,  and  which  forms  its  capital.  You  cannot 
increase  its  well-being  by  merely  making  its  money 
change  hands  within  its  own  limits  in  the  game  of  pro- 
duction and  consumption,  however  skilfully  3011  may 
play  it.  The  solution  of  the  problem  is  not  to  be  found 
there.  When  a  region  of  country  is  fully  developed 
and  its  products  balance  its  consumption,  it  must,  so  as 


58  The  Country  Doctor. 

to  create  fresh  prosperity  and  increase  the  public  wealth, 
make  exchanges  with  other  markets,  which  will  give  it 
a  steady  commercial  capital.  This  principle  has  always 
led  the  States  that  are  without  territorial  basis,  such  as 
Tyre,  Carthage,  Venice,  Holland,  and  England,  to  seize 
upon  the  commerce  of  transportation.  I  looked  about 
me  in  our  little  sphere  for  some  analogous  opening,  so 
as  to  bring  about  a  third  period  of  commercial  activity. 
Our  prosperity,  which  so  far  was  scarcely  apparent  to 
a  superficial  eye,  was  to  me  alone  truly  astonishing.  The 
inhabitants,  who  have  insensibly  grown  into  a  populous 
community,  have  not  been  able  to  judge  of  the  move- 
ment while  participating  in  it. 

"At  the  end  of  the  seventh  }Tear  I  met  with  two  for- 
eigners,—  the  real  benefactors  of  this  village,  which 
they  will,  perhaps,  metamorphose  into  a  town.  One  is 
a  Tyrolese  of  remarkable  cleverness,  who  makes  shoes 
for  the  countiy-people,  and  boots  for  the  fashionable 
society  of  Grenoble  better  than  an}'  Parisian  workman 
can  make  them.  He  was  a  poor  wandering  musician,  — 
one  of  those  industrious  Germans  who  turn  their  hand 
to  anything,  and  can  make  the  tool  as  well  as  the  work, 
the  music  as  well  as  the  instrument.  He  chanced  to 
stop  at  this  village  on  his  way  from  Italy,  through  which 
he  had  travelled,  singing  and  working  as  he  went.  He 
asked  if  any  one  needed  shoes.  They  sent  him  to  me. 
I  ordered  two  pairs  of  boots,  for  which  he  made  the 
lasts.  Surprised  at  his  clever  workmanship,  I  ques- 
tioned him.  I  found  him  careful  in  his  replies ;  his 
manners,  his  face,  all  confirmed  the  good  opinion  I 
was  inclined  to  form  of  him.  I  proposed  that  he  should 
take  up  his  abode  in  the  village,   and  I  promised  to 


The  Country  Doctor.  59 

help  his  business  to  the  best  of  my  ability.  In  fact, 
I  put  quite  a  large  sum  of  money  at  his  disposal.  He 
accepted.  I  had  my  own  plans.  Our  hides  were  im- 
proved, and  we  should  be  able  after  a  time  to  con- 
sume them  ourselves,  b}'  making  boots  and  shoes  at 
moderate  prices.  I  now  prepared  to  renew  the  basket 
experiment  on  a  large  scale.  Chance  had  thrown  in 
my  wa}T  a  remarkably  industrious  and  skilful  workman  ; 
and  it  was  ray  duty  to  secure  him,  and  give  the  village 
a  permanent  and  productive  trade.  The  demand  for 
boots  and  shoes  naturally  never  slackens ;  and  the 
manufacture  is  one  whose  least  improvement  is  at  once 
appreciated  b}*  the  consumer.  Fortunately,  I  was  not 
mistaken,  monsieur.  We  have  to-day  five  tanneries  ; 
the}T  dress  all  the  hides  of  the  department,  and  are 
sometimes  obliged  to  get  their  supply  from  Provence. 
Each  of  these  tanneries  has  its  own  mill.  Well,  mon- 
sieur, even  these  tanneries  cannot  furnish  all  the  leather 
my  TjTolese  needs  for  his  trade.  At  this  moment  he 
is  employing  forty  workmen  ! 

"  The  other  man  —  the  history  of  whose  arrival  is  not 
less  singular,  but  might  seem  tedious  if  I  related  it  to 
you  —  is  a  common  peasant  who  has  found  a  way  to 
make,  at  a  lower  price  than  is  asked  elsewhere,  the 
broad-brimmed  hats  which  are  worn  in  this  region  of 
country.  He  now  exports  them  into  the  neighboring 
departments,  and  even  into  Switzerland  and  Savoie. 
These  two  industries,  both  inexhaustible  sources  of 
prosperity,  provided  the  district  keeps  up  their  quality 
and  keeps  down  their  price,  suggested  to  me  the  idea 
of  founding  three  yearly  fairs.  The  prefect,  amazed  at 
our  industrial  progress,  seconded  my  efforts  to  obtain 


60  The  Country  Doctor. 

the  i'03'al  order  for  their  institution.  Last  j'ear  the  three 
fairs  were  held  for  the  first  time ;  and  already  thejT  are 
called,  even  as  far  as  Savoie,  the  Hat-and-Shoe  fair. 

k'  Hearing  of  these  events,  the  head-clerk  of  a  notary 
in  Grenoble,  a  poor  young  man  of  education  and  a  hard 
worker,  to  whom  Mademoiselle  Gravier  is  engaged, 
went  to  Paris  and  petitioned  for  the  right  to  open  a 
notary's  office  in  the  village  ;  his  request  was  granted. 
As  the  practice  cost  him  nothing,  he  was  able  to  build 
himself  a  house  opposite  to  that  of  the  justice  of  the 
peace,  ou  the  public  square  of  the  new  town.  We  now 
hold  a  weekly  market,  where  quite  a  large  business  in 
cattle  and  wheat  is  done.  Next  }Tear,  an  apothecary 
will  probably  settle  here ;  then  a  clockmaker,  a  furni- 
ture-dealer, a  stationer,  — in  short,  all  those  who  supply 
the  superfluities  of  life.  We  may  end  b}T  taking  on  the 
airs  of  a  little  town  and  building  middle-class  houses. 
The  education  of  ideas  has  so  far  advanced  that  I  met 
with  no  opposition  when  I  proposed  in  the  common 
council  to  repair  and  decorate  the  church,  to  build  a 
new  parsonage-house,  to  mark  off  a  fine  fair-ground 
and  plant  it  with  trees,  and  lay  out  the  village  itself  on 
a  plan  which  should,  at  some  future  time,  give  us  health}-, 
aiiy  streets  with  frequent  openings. 

"  This,  monsieur,  is  how  we  have  come  to  have  nine- 
teen hundred  households  instead  of  a  hundred  and  thirty- 
seven  ;  three  thousand  horned  cattle  instead  of  eight 
hundred  ;  and,  in  place  of  seven  hundred  souls,  a  village 
population  of  over  two  thousand,  —  three  thousand, 
counting  the  inhabitants  of  the  whole  valle}'.  Within 
the  district,  we  have  twelve  rich  families,  a  hundred 
who  are  well-to-do,  and  two  hundred  who  are  prosper- 


The  Country  Doctor.  61 

ing.  The  rest  live  by  their  labor.  All  know  how  to 
read  and  write  ;  and  we  send  seventeen  subscriptions 
to  different  newspapers.  You  will  still  see  many  unfor- 
tunate persons  among  us  ;  I  do,  indeed,  see  too  many 
of  them ;  but,  at  least,  no  one  begs,  and  there  is  work 
for  all.  I  tire  two  horses  a  day  in  attending  to  the  sick  ; 
and  I  can  now  ride  where  I  please,  at  all  hours  and 
without  risk,  round  a  radius  of  fifteen  miles  :  if  any  one 
were  to  fire  a  shot  at  me  he  would  not  live  five  minutes. 
The  silent  affection  of  the  inhabitants  of  this  valley  is 
all  that  I  have  personally  gained  by  these  changes,  be- 
yond  the  pleasure  of  hearing  a  contented  people  sajT,  in 
joyous  tones,  as  I  pass  them:  —  'Good-day,  Monsieur 
Benassis.'  You  will  readily  understand  that  the  un- 
sought profits  which  have  come  to  me  from  my  model 
farms  are  to  me  a  means,  and  not  a  result." 

"  If  there  were  some  man  in  every  district  to  take 
pattern  by  }~ou,"  cried  Genestas,  with  enthusiasm, 
"France  would  indeed  be  great,  and  able  to  snap  its 
fingers  at  all  Europe  !  " 

"Ah,  well! — I  have  kept  you  here  too  long,"  said 
Benassis  ;  "  it  is  almost  night.     Let  us  go  to  dinner." 

The  doctor's  house  on  the  garden  side  has  a  facade 
with  five  windows  to  each  stoiy.  There  is  a  ground- 
floor,  with  one  story  above  it,  and  a  tiled  roof  with  pro- 
jecting dormer  windows.  Green  blinds  contrast  with 
the  gray  tones  of  the  wall,  from  end  to  end  of  which 
a  grape-vine  runs  between  the  two  tiers  of  windows, 
like  a  frieze.  At  the  base  of  the  wall,  a  few  Bengal 
rose-bushes  lead  a  melancholy  life,  —  half-drowned  at 
times  b}T  the  rainfall  from  the  roof,  which  has  no  gutter. 


62  The  Country  Doctor. 

As  you  enter  the  house,  by  a  large  landing  at  the  fool  of 
the  stairs  which  forms  an  antechamber,  a  salon  with  four 
windows,  two  on  the  courtyard  and  two  on  the  garden, 
opens  to  the  right.  This  room,  doubtless  the  cause  of 
much  economy  and  the  object  of  many  hopes  on  the 
part  of  the  deceased  vicar,  has  a  parquet  floor,  and  a 
panelled  wainscot,  and  is  hung  with  tapestries  of  the 
seventeenth  centuiy.  The  large  and  small  arm-chairs, 
covered  with  silk  damask  embroidered  with  flowers  of 
another  color,  the  gilded  branch  candlesticks  of  old 
date  which  ornamented  the  mantel-shelf,  and  the  cur- 
tains with  their  heavy  tassels,  all  proclaimed  the  opu- 
lence of  the  late  curate.  Benassis  had  supplemented 
the  furniture,  which  was  not  without  distinction,  by  two 
pier-tables  of  wood  carved  in  wreaths,  placed  opposite 
to  each  other  between  the  windows  at  both  ends  of  the 
room,  and  by  an  old  clock  inlaid  with  brass,  which 
decorated  the  chimne}T-piece.  The  doctor  himself  rarely 
used  this  salon,  which  exhaled  the  damp  odor  common 
to  rooms  that  are  always  shut  up.  The  deceased  vicar 
still  pervaded  the  atmosphere,  and  the  peculiar  smell  of 
his  tobacco  seemed  to  issue  from  the  corner  of  the  fire- 
place where  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  sitting.  Two 
large  sofas  were  symmetrically  placed  on  either  side  of 
the  hearth,  where  there  had  been  no  fire  since  Monsieur 
Gravier's  visit  until  to-day,  when  it  was  bright  with  the 
clear  flames  of  the  pine-logs. 

"The  evenings  are  cold,"  said  Benassis;  "a  fire 
looks  cheerful." 

Genestas,  who  had  grown  thoughtful,  was  beginning 
to  understand  the  doctor's  indifference  to  the  e very-day 
things  of  life. 


The  Country  Doctor.  63 

"  Monsieur,"  he  said,  "  3-011  have  the  true  spirit  of  a 
citizen  ;  I  am  surprised  that  after  accomplishing  so  much 
you  have  not  attempted  to  enlighten  the  government." 

Benassis  laughed,  though  gently,  and  with  some  sad- 
ness. 

' '  Write  a  treatise  on  the  best  way  of  civilizing  France 
—  is  that  what  you  mean?  "  he  said.  ;'  Monsieur  Gra- 
vier  has  already  suggested  it.  Alas  !  nothing  enlight- 
ens a  government ;  and  of  all  governments  the  one  least 
susceptible  of  enlightenment  is  the  one  that  thinks  itself 
created  to  shed  light./  No  doubt  what  we  have  done 
for  this  district  ought  to  be  done  by  all  other  ma}'ors  ; 
hy  the  municipal  officers  for  their  cities,  by  the  sub- 
prefects  for  their  arrondissements,  Ivy  the  prefects  for 
the  departments,  by  the  prime-minister  for  France,  — 
each  in  his  own  sphere  of  action.  Where  I  have  taught 
mJ  people  to  make  a  road  five  miles  long,  some  might 
construct  a  great  highway,  others  a  canal.  Just  as  I 
encouraged  the  manufacture  of  peasants'  hats,  a  minis- 
ter might  release  France  from  the  industrial  yoke  of 
foreigners  by  encouraging  clockmakers,  and  bringing 
to  perfection  our  own  iron  and  steel  manufactures,  our 
files  and  smelting-pots,  and  by  the  cultivation  of  silk 
and  indigo.  In  the  matter  of  commerce,  encouragement 
does  not  mean  protection.  A  nation's  true  policy  is  to 
relieve  itself  of  paying  tribute  to  other  nations,  but  to 
do  so  without  the  humiliating  assistance  of  custom- 
houses and  prohibitory  laws.  Manufacturing  industry 
depends  solel}'  on  itself;  competition  is  its  life.  Pro- 
tect it,  and  it  goes  to  sleep  ;  it  dies  from  monopoly  as 
well  as  from  the  tariff.  The  nation  that  succeeds  in 
making  all  other  nations  its  vassals,  will  be  the  one 


64  The  Country  Doctor. 

which  first  proclaims  commercial  liberty  ;  it  will  have 
enough  manufacturing  power  to  supply  its  productions 
at  a  cheaper  price  than  those  of  its  rivals.  France  can 
attain  this  result  much  better  than  England,  for  France 
alone  has  sufficient  territory  to  maintain  her  agricultural 
products  at  prices  which  will  keep  down  the  rate  of 
wages.  The  French  government  ought  to  bear  this  in 
mind  ;  it  is,  in  fact,  the  whole  question  of  modern  poli- 
tics. My  dear  sir,  these  questions  have  not  been  the 
object  of  my  life  :  the  tasks  I  have  tardily  taken  up 
came  to  me  accidentally. 

"  Moreover,  such  things  are  too  simple  to  be  called  a 
science  ;  the\*  have  nothing  dazzling  or  theoretical  about 
them  ;  they  are  so  unlucky  as  to  be  merely  useful. 
Besides,  labor  cannot  be  hurried.  To  attain  success 
we  must  get  up  every  morning  with  the  same  quantum 
of  courage  ;  a  courage  which  looks  easy  and  yet  is  rare, 
the  courage  of  a  teacher,  repeating  day  after  day  the 
same  lesson,  —  the  least  rewarded  of  all  forms  of  cour- 
age. We  bow  with  respect  before  a  man  who,  like  you, 
has  shed  his  blood  upon  a  battle-field,  but  we  sneer  at 
other  men  who  slowly  consume  the  fire  of  their  lives  in 
saying  over  and  over  again  the  same  thing  to  children 
of  the  same  age.  "  To  do  good  in  obscurity  offers  no 
temptation  to  an}'  one.  {  Civic  virtue,  which  led  the  great 
men  of  former  days  to  do  service  to  the  State,  and  made 
them  willing  to  take  the  lowest  rank  if  the.}*  could  not 
have  the  highest,  is  lacking  to  our  generation.  The 
disease  of  the  present  day  is  superiorit}*.  There  are 
more  saints  than  niches  ;  and  the  reason  is  obvious. 
Losing  the  monarchy  we  lost  honor ;  losing  the  religion 
of  our  fathers  we  lost  the  Christian  virtues  ;  and  through 


The  Country  Doctor.  65 

our  fruitless  attempts  at  government  we  have  lost  pa- 
triotism. Those  principles,  instead  of  inspiring  the 
masses,  no  longer  exist,  —  except,  indeed,  partially  ;  for 
ideas  never  die.  To  support  society,  there  is  in  these 
da}rs  no  other  prop  than  selfishness.  Individuals  be- 
lieve only  in  themselves.  The  future  is  man  and  his 
social  existence ;  we  no  longer  see  anything  beyond 
that.  The  great  man  who  shall  save  us  from  the  ship- 
wreck toward  which  we  arc  hastening  will  doubtless 
make  use  of  that  spirit  of  individualism  to  reform  the 
nation  ;  meantime,  while  awaiting  such  regeneration,  we 
are  in  an  age  of  self-interests  and  materialism.  The 
latter  word  brands  soeiet}\  We  are  all  ticketed,  not 
according  to  what  we  are,  but  according  to  what  we 
have.  A  man  of  energy  in  shirt-sleeves  wins  little  or  no 
recognition.  This  sort  of  estimate  rules  in  the  govern- 
ment. A  minister  sends  a  paltry  medal  to  a  sailor  who 
saves  a  dozen  lives  at  the  peril  of  his  own,  but  he  be- 
stows the  cross  of  honor  on  a  deput}'  who  sells  him  a 
vote.  Woe  to  the  country  thus  constituted  !  Nations, 
like  individuals,  derive  their  vigor  from  noble  senti-  \ 
ments  only.  The  sentiments  of  a  people  are  their  be- 
liefs. In  these  days,  instead  of  beliefs  we  have  nothing 
but  self-interests.  If  each  man  thinks  only  of  himself, 
and  puts  faith  in  himself  alone,  where  will  3011  find  civic 
courage?  —  since  the  very  condition  of  that  virtue  is  the 
abnegation  of  self.  Civic  courage  and  military  courage 
come  from  one  and  the  same  principle.  You  are  called 
upon  to  give  your  life's  blood  at  a  moment's  notice  ;  ours 
is  poured  out  drop  bjr  drop.  On  either  side,  the  same 
struggle  under  different  forms.  If  we  wish  to  civilize 
the  humblest  corner  of  the  earth  it  is  not  enough  to  be 


6Q  The  Country  Doctor. 

an  honest  or  a  virtuous  man  ;  we  must  be  educated : 
but  education,  instruction,  uprightness,  patriotism,  are 
nothing  without  will,  —  the  firm  will  with  which  a  man 
must  detach  himself  from  self-interest  and  consecrate  his 
powers  to  a  social  thought.  France  can  boast  of  more 
than  one  educated  man,  more  than  one  patriot  in  each 
district ;  but  I  am  certain  there  is  not  in  every  district  a 
man  who  adds  to  those  precious  qualities  a  stead}'  will, 
and  a  pertinacity  like  that  of  a  blacksmith  as  he  beats 
out  his  iron.  The  man  who  destnyys  and  the  man  who 
builds  up  are  equally  the  phenomena  of  will :  one  pre- 
pares, the  other  achieves  the  work  ;  the  first  appears 
like  the  genius  of  evil,  the  second  like  the  genius  of 
good  ;  to  the  one,  glory ;  to  the  other,  oblivion.  Evil 
has  a  piercing  voice  which  wakes  the  vulgar  soul  and 
fills  it  with  admiration  ;  good  is  long  silent.  Human 
self-love  chooses  the  brilliant  career.  A  work  of  peace, 
a  humble  work  accomplished  without  self-seeking,  can 
never  be  other  than  accidental, —  at  least,  until  education 
has  changed  the  social  principles  of  France.  When 
these  principles  are  changed,  when  we  are  all  great 
citizens,  shall  we  not  become,  in  spite  of  the  comfort  of 
our  easy  lives,  the  most  wearying  and  the  most  wearied, 
the  least  artistic,  and  the  most  unhappy  people  on  the 
face  of  the  earth  ?  It  does  not  concern  me  to  answer 
these  questions ;  I  am  not  the  head  of  the  nation. 

"  Apart  from  these  considerations,  there  are  other 
difficulties  which  prevent  the  government  from  having 
fixed  principles.  Moreover,  in  the  matter  of  civilization 
nothing  is  absolute,  "/ideas  which  suit  one  nation  are 
dangerous  to  another  ;  tfcere  are  regions  of  intelligence, 
as  there  are  of  soil.     If  we  have  had  many  bad  govern' 


The  Country  Doctor.  67 

ments,  it  is  because  government,  like  taste,  emanates 
originally  from  a  very  high  and  a  very  pure  sentiment. 
Genius  in  this  direction  comes  from  a  tendency  of  the 
soul,  and  not  from  a  science.  No  one  can  really  meas- 
ure the  acts  or  the  thoughts  of  an  administrator ;  his 
true  judges  are  far  removed  from  him  ;  the  results  of  his 
administration  are  farther  still.  Thus  every  one  can 
st3'le  himself  an  administrator  without  running  much 
risk.  The  species  of  seduction  which  intellect  exercises 
in  France  inspires  great  respect  for  men  of  ideas  ;  but 
ideas  are  worth  little  where  only  will  is  needed. 

"  Besides,  government  does  not  consist  in  imposing 
ideas  or  methods  more  or  less  useful  upon  the  masses, 
but  in  giving  safe  direction  to  the  good  or  evil  ideas 
of  those  masses,  thus  making  them  conduce  to  the 
general  good.  If  the  prejudices  and  fixed  habits  of  a 
country  lead  to  evil,  the  inhabitants  will  themselves 
abandon  the  errors.  Do  not  all  errors  in  rural,  politi- 
cal, or  domestic  economy  lead  to  losses  which  self- 
interests  rectify  in  the  long  run?  Here,  in  this  district, 
I  had  the  luck  to  find  a  tabula  rasa.  B3-  ni}'  advice, 
the  earth  has  been  well  cultivated  ;  but  there  had  been 
no  previous  mistakes  in  agriculture,  and  the  soil  was 
good  ;  it  was  therefore  eas}*  for  me  to  introduce  culti- 
vation with  five  successions  of  crops,  grass,  clover,  and 
potatoes.  My  agricultural  system  rubbed  against  no 
prejudices.  No  worthless  ploughshares  were  in  use,  as 
in  some  parts  of  France  ;  here  the  hoe  sufficed  for  the 
little  tillage  that  was  done.  The  wheelwright  had  an 
interest  in  ciTing  up  my  wheel-ploughs,  because  they 
threw  work  in  his  wa}' ;  thus  he  became  my  confederate. 
But  in  this,  as  in  other  things,  I  always  sought  to  draw 


68  The  Country  Doctor. 

the  interests  of  the  one  within  the  interests  of  the  man}T. 
Soon  I  advanced  from  productions  which  served  the 
immediate  wants  of  a  poor  community  to  other  produc- 
tions, .which  increased  their  comfort  and  well-being.  I 
never  drew  in  from  the  outer  to  the  inner ;  and  I  only 
encouraged  expectations  which  were  certain  to  enrich 
the  people,  —  the  profits  of  which  could  be  seen  at  a 
glance.  The  people  who  made  them  were  my  apostles, 
and  spread  my  gospel  by  their  own  acts,  and  without 
being  aware  of  it. 

"  Then  there  's  another  consideration.  Here  we  are, 
fourteen  miles  from  Grenoble ;  and  the  vicinity  of  a 
great  town  offers  many  an  opening  for  productions.  All 
districts  are  not  at  the  gates  of  a  large  city.  In  every 
effort  like  this  of  mine,  we  must  consider  the  character 
of  the  region,  its  situation,  its  resources  ;  we  must  study 
soil,  men,  and  things,  and  beware  of  planting  vines 
in  Normandy.  So,  you  see,  nothing  is  more  variable 
than  the  conditions  of  government ;  in  fact,  very  few 
general  principles  can  belong  to  it.  Law  is  uniform  ; 
customs,  soils,  and  intellects  are  not  •^government  is 
the  art  of  applying  law  without  injury  to  interests  ;*Y 
therefore,  its  working  must  be  local.  On  the  other  side 
of  the  mountain  at  whose  feet  our  deserted  village  lies, 
it  is  impossible  to  use  wheel-ploughs,  for  there  is  no 
depth  of  earth ;  well,  if  the  mayor  of  that  district  had 
tried  to  imitate  our  methods,  he  would  have  ruined  his 
communit}'.  I  advised  him  to  make  vineyards,  and 
last  year  that  little  region  had  an  excellent  grape- 
harvest  ;  he  exchanges  his  wine  for  our  wheat. 

' '  And  then,  too,  I  have  stood  well  with  the  people  to 
whom  I  preached  ;  we  were  always  in  close  relations  to 


The  Country  Doctor.  69 

each  other.  I  cured  my  peasantry  of  their  ailments,  — 
always  eas}'  to  cure,  for  the  chief  point  is  to  restore  the 
natural  strength  by  substantial  food.  Country  people, 
either  from  thrift  or  indigence,  live  so  badly  that  their 
maladies  come  chiefly  from  their  penuiy ;  as  a  general 
thing  they  are  health}'.  When  I  resolved,  solemnly,  to 
take  up  this  life  of  obscure  resignation,  I  hesitated  long 
whether  to  make  myself  a  curate,  a  country  doctor,  or  a 
justice  of  the  peace.  It  is  not  without  reason,  nvy  dear 
monsieur,  that  the  three  black  gowns,  priest,  lawyer,  and 
doctor,  are  proverbially  classed  together ;  one  stanches 
the  wounds  of  the  soul,  another  those  of  the  purse, 
the  third  those  of  the  body ;  they  represent  societ}'  in 
its  three  chief  aspects  of  existence,  —  conscience,  prop- 
erty, and  health.  Formerly  the  first,  subsequently  the 
s"econd,  we're  the  State  itself.  Those  who  preceded  us 
on  this  earth  thought,  possibly  with  reason,  that  the 
priest  —  the  guide  of  ideas  —  ought  to  be  the  sole  gov- 
erning power  ;  he  was  king,  pontiff,  judge.  But  in  those 
days  all  was  faith  and  conscience.  To-da}r,  this  is 
changed  ;  and  we  must  take  our  epoch  for  such  as  it  is. 
Well,  I  think  that  the  progress  of  civilization  and  the 
well-being  of  the  masses  depends  on  the  three  profes- 
sions. The}T  are  the  powers  which  directly  lead  the 
people  to  feel  the  result  of  actions,  of  interests,  and  of 
principles, — the  three  great  results  produced  within  a 
nation  by  events,  by  propert}-,  and  by  ideas.  Time 
goes  on,  and  brings  changes  ;  properties  increase  or 
diminish.  All  things  must  be  ruled  by  such  mutations  ; 
out  of  it  comes  the  principle  of  order.  To  civilize  com- 
munities, to  create  production,  we  must  bring  the  masses 
to  understand  how  it  is  that  individual  interests  are  one 


70  The  Country  Doctor. 

with  national  interests,  which  resolve  themselves  into 
actions,  interests,  and  principles.  The  three  profes- 
sions, handling,  as  the}^  necessarily  do,  these  human 
results,  seem  to  be,  in  our  day,  the  greatest  levers  of 
civilization  ;  they  alone  offer  constantly  to  the  man  of 
character  an  efficacious  means  of  ameliorating  the  con- 
dition of  the  poorer  classes,  —  with  which  tliey  are  in 
perpetual  relation. 

"The  peasant,  however,  would  rather  listen  to  the 
man  wrho  prescribes  for  his  body  than  to  the  priest  who 
discourses  on  the  salvation  of  his  soul.  The  one  can  talk 
to  him  about  the  land  he  cultivates,  the  other  is  obliged 
to  converse  of  heaven,  about  which  he  is  in  these  dajs; 
unfortunately,  little  interested.  I  say  unfortunately, 
for  the  doctrine  of  a  future  life  is  not  only  a  consola- 
tion but  a  proper  means  of  government.  Is  not  religion 
the  only  power  that  can  uphold  social  laws?  France 
has  recently  vindicated  God.  When  religion  was  done 
awa}r  with,  the  government  was  forced  to  set  up  the 
Terror  to  compel  the  enforcement  of  the  laws ;  but  it 
was  only  human  terror,  and  it  passed  awa}\ 

"  Well,  monsieur,  when  a  peasant  is  ill  and  nailed  to 
a  sick-bed,  or  convalescent,  he  is  forced  to  listen  to 
reason  and  argument ;  and  he  will  understand  both  if 
presented  clearly.  That  was  the  thought  that  made  a 
doctor  of  me.  I  reckoned  with  my  peasantiy  and  for 
them  ;  I  gave  them  only  such  advice  as  would  be  cer- 
tain in  its  effects,  and  would  therefore  constrain  them 
to  recognize  the  soundness  of  my  views.  With  peas- 
ants, it  is  essential  to  be  infallible.  Infallibility  was 
the  making  of  Napoleon  ;  it  would  have  made  a  god  of 
him  if  the  universe  had  not  resounded  with  his  fall  at 


The  Country  Doctor.  71 

Waterloo.  If  Mohammed  was  able  to  create  a  religion 
after  conquering  a  third  of  the  globe,  it  was  because  he 
concealed  from  the  world  the  spectacle  of  his  death.  To 
the  village  mayor  and  the  great  conqueror  the  same  prin- 
ciple applies  ;  the  nation  and  the  district  are  of  the  same 
flock,  the  breed  is  the  same.  I  was  rigorous  towards  those 
I  was  forced  to  help  with  money  ;  if  I  had  not  shown 
firmness  the}'  would  all  have  scoffed  at  me.  feasants, 
quite  as  often  as  men  of  the  world,  end  by  making  light 
of  those  whom  they  cheat.  To  be  duped  is  to  be  weak  ; 
strength  governs  all  things.  I  have  never  demanded  a 
penny  of  any  one  for  my  medical  services,  unless  from 
those  who  are  known  to  be  rich ;  but  I  have  left  no  one 
in  ignorance  of  the  proper  price  of  them.  I  never  give 
away  medicines,  unless  the  sick  person  is  indigent.  If 
my  peasantry  do  not  pay  me,  they  at  least  know  the 
amount  of  their  debt ;  sometimes  the}7  ease  their  con- 
science by  bringing  me  oats  for  my  horses,  or  wheat, 
when  it  is  not  too  dear.  If  the  miller  were  to  offer  me 
only  a  few  eels  for  nry  services,  I  should  tell  him  he  was 
generous  for  so  trifling  a  matter.  Such  politeness  bears 
fruits  ;  in  winter  he  will  give  me  a  few  sacks  of  flour  for 
the  poor.  Ah !  monsieur,  these  people  have  hearts  if 
we  don't  blight  them.  I  have  come  to  think  more  of 
good  and  less  of  evil  than  I  used  to." 

"But  you  must  have  sorely  taxed  yourself  ?  "  said 
Genestas. 

"I!  not  at  all,"  answered  Benassis.  "It  gave  me 
no  more  trouble  to  say  a  useful  thing  than  to  talk  non- 
sense. Meeting  them  as  I  did,  talking  and  laughing 
with  them,  I  was  soon  able  to  speak  to  them  of  them- 
selves.    At  first,  they  did  not  listen  to  me.     I  had  their 


72  The  Country  Doctor. 

prejudices  and  repugnances  to  combat ;  I  was  a  bour- 
geois, and  to  their  minds  a  bourgeois  was  an  enemy. 
That  sort  of  enmity  amused  me.  Between  the  doing  of 
good  and  the  doing  of  evil,  there 's  but  one  difference, — 
a  conscience  at  peace  or  the  reverse ;  the  trouble  re- 
mains the  same.  If  rascals  chose  to  behave  well,  they 
would  end  by  being  millionnaires  instead  of  being 
hanged  ;   that 's  the  whole  of  it  —  " 

"Monsieur!"  cried  Jacquotte,  "the  dinner  is  get- 
ting cold." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Genestas,  catching  the  doctor  by 
the  arm,  "  I  have  only  one  remark  to  offer  on  what  I 
have  just  heard.  I  know  nothing  about  the  wars  of 
Mohammed,  and  so  I  cannot  judge  of  his  militaiy 
talents  ;  but  if  3Tou  had  seen  the  Emperor  manoeuvring 
the  campaign  in  France  3*011  would  have  taken  him  for 
a  god  ;  and  if  he  was  vanquished  at  Waterloo,  it  was 
because  he  was  more  than  man  ;  he  was  too  mighty  for 
earth  and  the  earth  gave  way  under  him,  — that  is  how 
it  was.  In  other  respects  I  am  heartily  of  3'our  opinion 
in  all  things  ;  and,  thunder  of  heaven  !  the  mother  who 
bore  you  did  n't  waste  her  time."\ 

"Come!"  said  Benassis,  smiling,  "let  us  go  to 
dinner." 

The  dining-room  was  panelled  throughout,  and  painted 
gray.  The  furniture  consisted  of  a  few  straw  chairs,  a 
buffet,  some  cupboards,  a  stove,  the  famous  clock  of 
the  deceased  curate,  and  white  curtains  at  the  windows. 
The  table,  covered  with  a  white  cloth,  bore  no  signs 
of  luxuiy,  and  the  crockery  was  of  common  earthen- 
ware. The  soup,  made  after  a  recipe  of  the  late  master, 
was  the  strongest  broth  that  ever  a  cook  could  simmer 


The  Country  Doctor.  73 

and  boil  clown.  The  doctor  and  his  guest  had  hardly 
eaten  it,  when  a  man  abruptly  entered  the  kitchen,  and 
in  spite  of  Jacquotte,  made  a  sudden  irruption  into  the 
dining-room. 

"  Well,  what  is  it?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Why,  it's  this,  monsieur;  our  good  woman,  Ma- 
dame Vigneau,  has  turned  quite  white,  —  so  white  that 
we  are  all  frightened." 

"Well,"  said  Benassis,  cheerfully,  "then.  I  shall 
have   to  go." 

He  rose.  In  spite  of  the  doctor's  remonstrances, 
Genestas.,  flinging  down  his  napkin,  swore  in  soldier 
fashion  that  he  would  not  sta}'  at  table  without  his  host, 
and  returned  to  the  salon  to  warm  himself,  thinking  all 
the  while  of  the  wretchedness  inevitably  to  be  met 
with  in  ever}'  state  of  life  to  which  man  is  subject  here 
below. 

Benassis  soon  returned,  and  the  Ijwo  friends  once 
more  sat  down  to  table. 

"  Taboureau  came  to  speak  to  you  just  now,"  said 
Jacquotte  to  her  master,  bringing  in  the  dishes  which 
she  had  kept  hot. 

"  Who  is  ill  at  his  place?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"  No  one,  monsieur ;  he  wanted  to  consult  you  about 
his  affairs,  he  said  ;  he  is  coming  back  again." 

"  Very  good.  This  Taboureau,"  resumed  Benassis, 
addressing  Genestas,  "is  to  me  a  perfect  treatise  on 
philosophy.  Study  him  attentively  when  he  comes  ;  he 
can't  fail  to  amuse  you.  He  used  to  be  a  day-laborer, 
—  a  worth}-  man,  thrift}',  eating  little,  and  working 
much.  As  soon  as  the  fellow  had  a  few  crowns  of  his 
own,  his  intellect  began  to  develop.      He  caught  the 


74  The  Country  Doctor. 

ideas  that  I  was  impressing  on  the  district,  and  tried 
to  profit  03-  them  for  his  own  advantage.  In  eight 
years  he  has  made  a  fori  une,  — really  a  large  fortune 
in  a  community  like  this.  Probably  he  is  worth  forty 
thousand  francs.  I'll  give  you  twenty  guesses  as  to 
how  he  made  that  money,  and  3011  will  never  find  out. 
He  is  a  usurer,  —  a  thorough-going  usurer  ;  and  his 
usury  is  so  part  and  parcel  of  the  interests  of  the  peo- 
ple of  this  district  that  I  should  simply  waste  my  time 
if  I  tried  to  undeceive  them  as  to  the  advantages  which 
they  think  they  get  from  their  dealings  with  him. 
When  this  devil  of  a  fellow  saw  them  all  tilling  then- 
lands,  he  went  to  the  adjoining  districts  and  bought 
grain,  to  supply-  these  poor  people  with  the  various 
kinds  of  seed  the}'  needed.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  the 
peasantry,  and  even  some  of  the  farmers,  never  have 
the  cash  to  pay  for  their  seeds.  To  some  Master  Ta- 
boureau  lent  a  sack  of  barley,  to  be  returned  by  a  sack 
of  rye  after  the  harvest ;  to  others  a  setier,  that  is, 
about  nine  bushels  of  wheat,  to  be  repaid  by  a  sack  of 
flour.  My  man  now  carries  on  this  singular  sort  of 
commerce  all  over  the  department.  If  nothing  balks 
him,  he  is  likel}T  to  make  a  million.  Well,  my  dear 
monsieur,  as  a  clay-laborer  Taboureau  used  to  be  a 
worthy  fellow,  good-natured,  obliging,  and  willing  to  do 
a  hand's  turn  for  any  one  who  asked  him  ;  but  now, 
in  proportion  to  his  gains,  Monsieur  Taboureau  has 
progressed  and  grown  wrangling  and  insolent.  The 
richer  he  becomes,  the  worse  he  gets.  As  soon  as 
a  peasant  passes  from  a  simple  life  of  labor  to  an 
easy  life,  or  to  the  ownership  of  landed  property,  he 
grows  unbearable.     He   forms   a  class   which  is  half- 


The  Country  Doctor.  75 

virtuous,  half-vicious,  half-educated,  half-ignorant, 
which  will  alwa\'s  be  the  despair  of  .governments. 
You  will  see  a  little  of  the  spirit  of  this  class  in  Tabou- 
reau, — a  simple-minded  man  to  all  appearance,  even 
illiterate,  but  certainly  deep  and  clever  as  regards  his 
own  interests." 

The  sound  of  a  heavy  step  announced  the  approach 
of  the  usurer  in  grains. 

"  Come  in,  Taboureau  !  "  cried  Benassis. 

Thus  prepared  by  the  doctor,  the  captain  looked  at 
the  peasant,  and  saw  a  thin  man,  much  bent,  with  a 
projecting  forehead,  and  many  wrinkles.  The  sunken 
face  was  pierced  b}r  a  pair  of  small  gray  e3'es  touched 
with  black.  The  usurer's  lips  were  tightly  closed,  and 
the  sharp  chin  was  thrust  up  to  meet  a  nose  that  was 
sarcastically  hooked.  His  high  cheek-bones  showed 
the  lines  and  cracks  which  denote  a  rambling  life  and 
the  craftiness  that  comes  of  an  illicit  business.  His 
hair  was  already  turning  gray.  He  wore  a  blue  jacket 
that  was  quite  clean,  whose  square  pockets  stuck  out 
from  both  hips,  and  whose  open  front  showed  a  white 
waistcoat  with  a  flowery  pattern.  He  planted  himself 
squarely  on  his  legs,  leaning  on  a  stick  with  a  knobby 
end.  A  little  spaniel  followed  him  into  the  room,  in 
defiance  of  Jacquotte,  and  lay  down  beside  him. 

"  Well,  what  is  it?"  asked  Benassis. 

Taboureau  looked  suspiciously  at  the  unknown  per- 
sonage who  was  sitting  at  the  doctor's  table,  and 
said,  — 

"It  is  not  a  case  of  illness,  monsieur  le  maire  ;  but 
you  know  how  to  heal  the  wounds  of  the  purse,  as  well 
as  those  of  the  bodv  ;  and  I've  come  to  consult  vou 


76  The  Country  Doctor. 

about  a  little  difficulty  I  've  had  with  a  man  at  Saint- 
Laurent." 

"Why  don't  3Tou  go  to  the  justice  of  the  peace,  or 
his  clerk?" 

"•Eh!  because  3*011  are  so  much  cleverer ;  and  I'm 
more  sure  of  my  affair  if  I  can  get  3*0111*  approbation." 

"  My  dear  Taboureau,  I  am  glad  to  give  nry  medical 
advice,  gratis,  to  the  poor ;  but  I  shall  not  examine 
into  the  affairs  of  a  man  as  rich  as  you  are  for  nothing. 
It  costs  something  to  get  hold  of  science." 

Taboureau  twisted  his  cap. 

"  If  you  want  my  advice,  which  will  save  you  the 
coppers  3*011  would  otherwise  have  to  la37  out  in  con- 
sulting the  law3'ers  at  Grenoble,  3*011  must  send  a  sack 
of  flour  to  the  Martin  woman  who  takes  care  of  the 
children  from  the  hospital." 

"Well,  to  be  sure,  monsieur;  I'll  do  that  with 
pleasure,  if  you  say  it  is  necessar3r.  Can  I  state  my 
business  without  disturbing  monsieur?"  he  added,  giv- 
ing a  glance  at  Genestas.  -'  Well,  then,  monsieur,"  he 
resumed,  at  a  nod  from  the  doctor,  "  two  months  ago, 
a  man  from  Saint-Laurent  came  to  see  me.  '  Tabou- 
reau/ he  said,  '  could  you  sell  me  twelve  hundred  and 
fifty  bushels  of  barle\r?'  'Why  not?'  I  answered, 
'that's  nry  business;  do  you  want  them  at  once?' 
1  No,'  he  said,  '  early  in  March,  for  the  spring-sowing.' 
4  Very  good,'  I  said.  Then  we  set  about  discussing  the 
price  ;  and  having  drunk  his  glass,  he  agreed  to  pay 
me  the  then  market  price  for  barle3r  in  Grenoble,  and  I 
was  to  deliver  the  grain  in  March,  —  less  the  storage 
waste,  of  course.  But,  nxy  dear  monsieur,  barleys 
have  gone  up  and  up,  till  they  've  boiled  over  like  a 


The  Country  Doctor.  77 

Kettle  o'  milk.  Being  pressed  for  money,  I  've  sold  all 
m}7  barle}7  —  natural  enough,  wasn't  it,  monsieur?" 

"No,"  said  Benassis ;  "that  barley  was  no  longer 
yours ;  it  was  left  in  jrour  care.  If  barley  had  gone 
down  in  value,  would  n't  30U  have  compelled  }Tour  pur- 
chaser to  pay  the  price  he  had  agreed  upon  ?  " 

"But,  monsieur,  perhaps  he  wouldn't  have  paid  it; 
we  must  swim  with  the  stream,  3011  know.  A  mer- 
chant ought  to  make  his  profit  when  he  can.  After  all, 
goods  are  not  3'ours  till  3*011  've  paid  for  them  ;  is  n't 
that  true,  monsieur  l'officier?  —  for  I  see  plainly  that 
3*ou  have  served  in  the  arm3T." 

"  Taboureau,"  said  Benassis  gravely,  "  misfortunes 
will  overtake  you.  Sooner  or  later,  God  punishes  evil 
actions.  How  can  so  intelligent  and  capable  a  man  as 
you,  a  man  who  knows  exactly  what  he  is  about,  set  such 
an  example  of  dishonest3T  to  this  district?  If  3*011  cany 
on  such  proceedings,  how  do  30U  expect  the  poor  folks 
to  keep  honest,  and  not  rob  you  in  return?  Your 
workmen  will  filch  part  of  the  time  the3T  owe  you,  and 
that  will  demoralize  others.  You  are  wrong.  That 
barle3*  was  as  good  as  delivered.  If  the  man  from 
Saint-Laurent  had  carried  it  away  3Tou  could  n't  have 
got  it  back.  You  therefore  sold  something  that  did 
not  belong  to  you.  The  barle3*,  by  the  terms  of  your 
agreement,  had  already  been  converted  into  money. 
But  go  on." 

Genestas  threw  a  glance  of  intelligence  at  the  doctor 
to  make  him  observe  the  man's  immovabilit3*.  Not  a 
fibre  of  his  face  quivered  at  the  reprimand,  his  brow 
had  not  flashed,  his  small  e3*es  were  calm. 

"Listen  to  me,  Taboureau.     Deliver  that  barley  at 


78  The  Country  Doctor. 

once,  or  }rou  will  lose  the  respect  of  everj'body.  Even 
if  3'our  pockets  gain  by  such  conduct,  you  will  be  held 
up  as  a  man  without  faith  or  decency,  without  honesty, 
without  honor  —  " 

"Go  on,  don't  be  afraid;  tell  me  I'm  a  knave,  a 
rascal,  a  thief.  They  say  those  things  in  business, 
monsieur  le  maire,  without  offence.  In  business,  don't 
you  see,  every  man 's  for  himself." 

"  Well,  then,  why  do  you  voluntarily  put  yourself  in 
a  position  to  deserve  such  terms?  " 

"  But,  monsieur,  if  the  law  is  on  my  side  —  " 

"  The  law  is  not  on  3'our  side." 

"Are  you  sure  of  that,  monsieur,  —  sure,  quite  sure? 
It 's  an  important  matter,  don't  you  see." 

"Of  course  I  am  sure.  If  I  were  not  at  dinner,  I 
would  read  3'ou  the  Code.  If  3'ou  go  to  law  about  it 
you  will  lose  yoxxr  case ;  and  you  will  never  set  foot 
within  my  doors  again.  I  will  not  receive  persons  I 
don't  respect.  Do  you  hear  me?  you  will  lose  3'our 
case." 

"Nay,  nay,  monsieur;  I  sha'n't  lose  it,"  said  Ta- 
boureau.  "  Look  here,  monsieur  le  maire,  it 's  the  Saint- 
Laurent  man  that  owes  me  the  barley ;  it 's  I  who 
bought  it  from  him ;  and  it 's  he  who  won't  deliver  it. 
I  wanted  to  be  quite  certain  that  I  should  win  the  case 
before  I  went  to  the  sheriff  and  involved  uryself  in 
costs." 

Genestas  and  the  doctor  looked  at  each  other,  trying 
to  hide  their  surprise  at  the  clever  trick  of  the  man  to 
get  at  the  judicial  truth  of  the  matter. 

"Well,  Taboureau,  your  man  keeps  bad  faith,  and 
you  had  better  not  deal  with  such  persons." 


TJie  Country  Doctor.  79 

"  Ah,  monsieur  !  but  they  understand  business." 

"  Good-day  to  }~ou,  Taboureau." 

u  Your  servant,  monsieur  le  maire,  and  company." 

"Well,"  said  Benassis,  when  the  usurer  had  disap- 
peared, "  don't  you  believe  that  in  Paris  a  man  like  that 
would  soon  be  a  millionnaire  ?  " 

Dinner  over,  the  doctor  and  his  guest  returned  to 
the  salon,  where  they  talked  for  the  rest  of  the  even- 
ing on  war  and  politics,  in  the  course  of  which  conver- 
sation Genestas  manifested  the  most  violent  antipathy 
to  Englishmen. 

"Monsieur,"  said  his  host,  "may  I  know  whom  I 
have  the  honor  to  receive  as  my  guest  ?  " 

"My  name  is  Pierre  Bluteau,"  answered  Genestas. 
"  I  am  a  captain  at  Grenoble." 

"Very  good,  monsieur.  Do  you  wish  to  follow  the 
same  system  as  Monsieur  Gravier?  He  liked,  after 
breakfast,  to  accompany  me  on  my  rounds  through  the 
neighborhood.  I  am  not  sure  that  you  will  take  much 
interest  in  the  matters  which  occupy  me,  for  they  are 
very  commonplace  ;  you  are  neither  the  owner  of  prop- 
erty nor  the  mayor  of  a  village,  and  you  will  see  noth- 
ing in  this  district  that  you  have  not  seen  elsewhere,  — 
all  cottages  look  alike.  However,  you  will  get  the  air, 
and  it  gives  an  object  to  your  ride  —  " 

"  Nothing  could  please  me  better  than  }Tour  proposal. 
I  feared  to  make  it  myself  lest  you  should  think  me 
troublesome." 

Captain  Genestas  —  to  whom  we  shall  continue  to 
give  his  own  name  instead  of  his  crafty  alias  —  was 
ushered  by  his  host  into  a  bedroom  on  the  second  floor, 
over  the  salon. 


80  The  Country  Doctor. 

"  Good  ! "  exclaimed  Benassis  ;  "Jacquotte  has  lighted 
3Tonr  fire.  If  there  is  anything  30U  want,  the  bell-rope 
is  close  to  the  bed's  head." 

"  I  don't  believe  I  shall  want  anything,"  said  Genes- 
tas.  "  Here  is  even  a  boot-jack.  One  needs  to  be  an 
old  trooper  to  know  the  value  of  that  article.  In  war- 
times, monsieur,  I  've  known  it  happen  that  one  would 
almost  burn  down  a  house  to  get  at  a  boot-jack.  After 
a  long  march,  and  specially  after  an  engagement,  the 
feet  swell  so  in  the  damp  leather  that  no  effort  can  get 
the  boots  off.  I  have  had  to  sleep  more  than  once  with 
my  boots  on." 

The  captain  looked  with  some  surprise  about  the 
room,  which  was  commodious,  neat,  and  even  hand- 
some. ' '  What  luxuiy  !  "  he  said.  ' '  I  suppose  }*ou 
are  as  well  lodged?" 

"Come  and  see,"  said  the  doctor.  "I  am  your 
neighbor :  we  are  onlv  separated  by  the  staircase." 

Genestas  was  a  good  deal  surprised,  on  entering  the 
doctor's  quarters,  to  see  a  bare  room,  whose  walls  had 
no  other  decoration  than  an  old  yellowish  paper  with 
brown  spots,  discolored  in  places.  The  bed  —  of  iron 
coarsely  varnished,  and  surmounted  by  a  wooden  pole 
from  which  fell  a  pair  of  gray  cotton  curtains,  at  the 
side  of  which  lay  a  shabby  strip  of  threadbare  carpet 
—  resembled  a  hospital  bed.  At  its  head  stood  one 
of  those  night-tables  with  four  legs,  whose  rolling  front 
opens  or  shuts  with  a  noise  like  that  of  castanets.  Three 
chairs,  two  armchairs  made  of  straw,  a  chest  of  drawers 
in  walnut- wood,  on  which  stood  a  very  ancient  basin 
and  a  water-pitcher,  the  cover  of  the  latter  being  held 
to  it  b}'  a  leaden  hinge,  completed  the  furniture.     The 


The  Country  Doctor.  81 

hearth  of  the  fireplace  was  cold ;  and  all  the  doctor's 
shaving-things  were  scattered  on  the  painted  stone 
mantel-shelf,  under  an  old  mirror,  which  was  hanging 
by  a  bit  of  twine.  The  tiled  floor,  neatly  swept,  was 
worn  and  cracked  and  hollowed  in  several  places.  Gra}- 
cotton  curtains,  with  green  fringes,  hung  at  the  two 
windows.  Everything,  even  to  the  round  table  on  which 
straggled  a  few  papers,  an  inkstand,  and  some  pens,  — 
everything  in  this  abode  of  simplicity,  to  which  the 
excessive  neatness  of  Jacquotte  bestowed  a  sort  of 
correction,  gave  the  idea  of  a  life  that  was  half  mo- 
nastic, indifferent  to  things,  yet  full  of  feelings.  An 
open  door  enabled  the  captain  to  look  into  a  study 
where  the  doctor,  no  doubt,  seldom  sat.  This  room 
was  in  much  the  same  state  as  the  bedroom.  A 
few  dusty  books  lay  sparsely  scattered  about  the  dusty 
shelves,  while  rows  of  bottles  and  labelled  phials  sug- 
gested that  pharmacy  occupied  more  space  there  than 
science. 

"  You  will  ask  me  why  there  is  such  a  difference  be- 
tween your  room  and  mine,"  said  Benassis.  "  Well,  I 
have  alwa}Ts  felt  ashamed  of  those  who  put  their  guests 
to  sleep  in  a  garret,  and  give  them  such  disfiguring 
looking-glasses  that  when  a  man  looks  at  himself  he 
seems  either  larger  or  smaller  than  nature,  either  pallid 
and  sickly  or  struck  with  apoplexy.  We  ought  to  try 
to  make  a  friend's  transient  apartment  as  agreeable  as 
possible  ;  don't  you  think  so?  HospitaluVv  seems  to  me 
as  much  a  happiness  and  luxury  as  it  is  a  virtue  ;  but 
under  whatever  aspect  you  consider  it,  not  excepting 
that  of  its  being  a  speculation,  ought  we  not  to  display 
For   friend   and  guest  all   the  little  caresses,  the  little 

6 


82  The  Country  Doctor. 

cajoleries  of  life?  To  your  room,  therefore,  belong  the 
handsome  pieces  of  furniture,  the  warm  carpet,  the  cur- 
tains, the  clock,  the  candelabra,  and  the  night-lamp ; 
you  must  have  the  wax  candles,  and  Jacquotte's  best 
attentions ;  doubtless  she  has  already  brought  you  the 
new  slippers,  some  milk,  and  a  warming-pan.  I  hope 
you  have  never  been  more  comfortably  seated  than  you 
will  be  in  the  luxurious  armchair,  discovered  I  don't 
know  where  by  the  late  curate.  One  thing  is  certain  ;  if 
we  wish  to  find  patterns  of  all  that  is  good,  and  beauti- 
ful, and  convenient  we  must  have  recourse  to  the  Church. 
I  hope  that  everything  in  your  room  will  please  you. 
You  will  find  some  capital  razors  and  good  soap,  and 
all  the  little  accessories  which  make  home-life  so  pleas- 
ant. But,  my  dear  Monsieur  Bluteau,  if  m}'  theories  of 
hospitalit}'  do  not  fully  explain  the  difference  between 
your  room  and  mine,  you  will  understand  the  naked- 
ness of  my  quarters  and  the  untidiness  of  my  study 
to-morrow,  when  you  witness  the  incessant  coming 
and  going  which  takes  place  in  my  house.  In  the  first 
place,  my  life  is  not  home-keeping ;  I  am  always  out. 
"When  I  am  in  the  house,  the  peasantry  come  to  see  me 
at  all  hours,  and  I  belong  to  them,  body,  soul,  and 
chamber.  Could  I  burden  myself  with  the  vexations 
of  etiquette,  or  with  those  caused  by  the  inevitable 
havoc  those  wortlry  people  would  involuntarily  make 
among  my  things?  Luxury  is  only  suitable  in  man- 
sions, castles,  boudoirs,  and  the  chambers  of  our 
friends.  Indeed,  I  am  only  in  the  house  to  sleep, 
and  therefore,  what  do  I  want  with  the  trappings  of 
wealth  ?  You  don't  know  how  indifferent  I  am  to  the 
things  of  life." 


The  Country  Doctor.  83 

They  bade  each  other  a  friendly  good-night,  and  shook 
hands  cordially  as  they  parted.  Before  he  slept,  the 
captain  made  more  than  one  reflection  upon  this  man, 
who,  hour  by  hour,  was  increasing  in  proportions  to  his 
mind. 


84  The  Country  Doctor. 


c\ 


CHAPTER   II. 

o'er  hill  and  dale. 

The  friendship  that  every  horseman  feels  for  his 
steed  led  Genestas  early  to  the  stable ;  and  he  was  well 
pleased  with  the  grooming  Nicolle  had  bestowed  upon 
his  horse. 

"Up  already,  Captain  Bluteau?"  cried  Benassis, 
who  came  to  meet  his  guest.  "  You  are  a  true  soldier, 
and  hear  reveille  wherever  you  go,  even  in  a  village." 

"Are  you  well?"  answered  Genestas,  stretching  out 
his  hand  with  a  friendly  motion. 

"  I  am  never  positively  well,"  answered  Benassis,  in 
a  tone  that  was  half-sad,  half-merry. 

"  Has  monsieur  slept  well?"  said  Jacquotte  to  Gen- 
estas. 

"Faith,  my  beauty!  you  made  my  bed  as  if  for  a 
bride." 

Jacquotte  smiled  as  she  followed  her  master  and  the 
captain.  After  seeing  them  at  table,  she  remarked  to 
Nicolle, — 

"  He's  a  good  fellow,  all  the  same,  that  officer." 

"I  should  think  so!"  said  Nicolle,  "he  has  given 
me  fort}-  sous,  alread}\" 

"  We  will  begin  by  visiting  two  death-beds,"  said 
Benassis  to  his  guest,  as  they  left  the  dining-room. 
"  Though  doctors  are  not  usually  fond  of  coming  face 


The  Country  Doctor.  85 

to  face  with  their  victims,  so-called,  I  shall  take  you  to 
two  houses  where  }Tou  will  be  able  to  make  a  rather  curi- 
ous observation  on  human  nature.  You  will  there  see 
two  scenes  which  will  prove  to  you  how  much  a  people 
living  on  the  mountains  differ  in  the  expression  of  their 
feelings  from  the  dwellers  on  a  plain.  That  portion  of 
our  district  which  lies  on  the  upper  slopes  and  summits 
preserves  customs  of  an  antique  t3'pe,  which  vaguely 
recall  the  scenes  of  the  Bible.  There  is,  along  this 
whole  chain  of  mountains,  a  distinct  line  traced  by 
nature,  above  which  the  aspect  of  everything  changes. 
Above,  is  strength ;  below,  cleverness  and  dexterit}T ; 
above,  noble  sentiments ;  below,  a  perpetual  recollec- 
tion of  the  material  interests  of  life.  Except  the  valle}T 
of  Ajou,  where  the  northern  slopes  are  peopled  with 
idiots  and  the  southern  with  an  intelligent  race,  —  two 
distinct  populations  separated  onl}7  by  a  rivulet,  yet 
dissimilar  at  all  points,  stature,  carriage,  plrysiognomy, 
manners,  customs,  and  occupations, — I  have  never 
seen  these  differences  more  marked  than  they  are  here. 
This  fact  ought  to  compel  all  administrators  of  govern- 
ment to  study  locally  the  application  of  the  laws.  But 
the  horses  are  ready,  let  us  start." 

In  a  short  time  the  riders  reached  a  house  which 
stood  in  a  part  of  the  village  that  faced  the  mountains 
of  the  Grande  Chartreuse.  At  the  door  of  this  house, 
whose  general  appearance  was  tolerably  neat,  they 
saw  a  coffin  covered  with  black  cloth,  placed  on  two 
chairs  surrounded  by  four  wax  tapers  ;  and  near  by,  on 
a  stool,  a  copper  vessel  filled  with  holy-water,  in  which 
la}-  a  branch  of  box.  Each  person  who  entered  the 
courtyard   knelt   beside  the  bod}',   said  a  Pater,   and 


86  The  Country  Doctor. 

sprinkled  a  few  drops  of  holy-water  upon  the  bier. 
Above  the  black  cloth  rose  the  green  tufts  of  a  jasmine 
which  grew  beside  the  entrance  ;  and  over  the  moulding 
of  the  doorway  ran  the  tortuous  shoots  of  a  grape-vine, 
already  in  leaf.  A  3*oung  girl  was  sweeping  the  path 
before  the  house  in  obedience  to  that  vague  desire  for 
adornment  which  all  ceremonies,  even  the  most  mourn- 
ful, impart.  The  eldest  son  of  the  deceased,  a  young 
peasant  twentjT-two  years  of  age,  was  leaning  motion- 
less against  the  casing  of  the  doorway.  His  eyes  were 
full  of  tears  that  did  not  fall,  or  perhaps  he  wiped  them 
furtivety  away  from  time  to  time.  At  the  moment  when 
Benassis  and  Genestas  entered  the  courtyard,  having 
fastened  their  horses  to  one  of  the  poplars  which  stood 
outside  the  little  wall,  breast-high,  above  which  they  had 
taken  note  of  the  scene  within,  the  widow  was  coming  out 
of  a  cattle-shed,  followed  by  a  woman  who  carried  a  jug 
of  milk. 

"  Take  courage,  my  good  Pelletier,"  said  the  latter. 

"  Ah,  my  good  woman,"  replied  the  widow,  "  when 
one  has  lived  twenty-five  years  with  a  man,  it  is  very 
hard  to  part  with  him  !  "  and  her  ej'es  filled  with  tears. 
"  Are  you  going  to  pa}T  me  the  two  sous?"  she  added 
after  a  pause,  holding  out  her  hand. 

"  To  be  sure !  I  forgot,"  said  the  other  woman,  tak- 
ing out  the  money.  "  Well,  console  yourself,  neighbor. 
—  Ah  !  here  is  Monsieur  Benassis  !  " 

"Well,  poor  mother;  are  you  better?"  asked  the 
doctor. 

"  As  for  that,  my  dear  monsieur,"  she  said,  crying, 
"  one  has  to  keep  about  all  the  same.  I  sa}r  to  myself 
that  my  man  won't  suffer  any  more,  —  and  he  did  suffer 


TJie  Country  Doctor.  87 

so!  But  walk  in,  gentlemen.  Jacques  !  put  chairs  for 
the  gentlemen  ;  come !  stir  yourself.  Bless  me  !  you 
won't  bring  your  father  back  to  life  if  3*011  stand  there 
a  hundred  years !  You  have  got  to  do  double  work 
now." 

"No,  no,  my  good  woman,"  said  Benassis,  "let 
your  son  be  quiet ;  we  don't  intend  to  sit  down.  You 
have  a  lad  there  who  will  take  care  of  you,  and  who 
is  well  able  to  replace  his  father." 

"Go  and  get  dressed,  Jacques,"  cried  the  widow; 
"  the}T  '11  be  here  to  fetch  you  before  long." 

"  Well,  good-by,  mother,"  said  Benassis. 

"Gentlemen,  your  servant,"  she  replied. 

"  Here  you  see  death,"  said  the  doctor  to  Genestas, 
as  the}'  rode  away,  "  taken  as  an  expected  event,  which 
does  not  interfere  with  the  ordinary  life  of  the  family. 
The  people  do  not  even  wear  mourning  ;  in  the  villages, 
either  from  poverty  or  thrift,  they  will  not  go  to  that 
expense.  Throughout  these  valleys  mourning  is  never 
worn.  Now,  the  wearing  of  mourning  is  neither  a  cus- 
tom nor  a  law  ;  it  is  something  better,  —  it  is  an  institu- 
tion derived  from  all  laws  whose  enforcement  depends 
on  the  one  principle  —  morality.  Well,  in  spite  of  our 
efforts,  neither  Monsieur  Janvier  nor  I  have  been  able 
to  make  our  peasantry  understand  of  what  importance 
such  outward  observances  are  to  the  maintenance  of 
social  order.  These  worthy  folks,  so  lately  emanci- 
pated from  their  old  thraldoms,  are  not  quick  to  seize 
the  new  ties  which  ought  to  bind  them  to  these  public 
principles.  So  far,  they  have  got  no  further  than  the 
rudimentary  ideas  which  lead  to  order  and  physical 
well-being.     Later,  if  any  one  continues  my  work,  they 


88  The  Country  Doctor. 

will  come  to  understand  principles  which  help  to  pre- 
serve the  rights  of  all.  It  is  not  enough  to  be  an  up- 
right man,  we  must  be  seen  to  be  one.  Society  does 
not  exist  on  moral  ideas  only  ;  to  last,  it  requires  ae- 
t  ions  that  are  in  harmony  with  such  ideas.  In  most  of 
the  rural  districts,  out  of  every  hundred  families  whom 
death  deprives  of  their  head,  only  a  few,  gifted  with 
lively  sensibilit}',  preserve  a  remembrance  of  the  dead 
for  airy  length  of  time  ;  the  others  totally  forget  them 
before  the  end  of  the  year.  Is  not  such  forgetfulness 
a  sore  thing  ?  Religion  is  the  heart  of  a  people  ;  it  is 
the  expression  of  their  feelings,  which  it  raises  by  giv- 
ing them  an  object.  Without  a  God  visibly  worshipped, 
religion  would  not  exist,  and  human  laws  would  have 
little  real  vigor.  Though  the  conscience  belongs  to  God 
alone,  the  body  falls  under  the  social  law ;  therefore,  is 
it  not  the  beginning  of  atheism  to  efface  the  outward 
signs  of  religious  grief,  and  not  to  exhibit  forcibly  to  the 
eyes  of  children  who  cannot  yet  reflect  —  indeed,  to 
the  eyes  of  all  who  learn  Iry  example  —  the  duty  of  oil- 
ing laws  by  a  visible  submission  to  the  decrees  of  Prov- 
idence, who  afflicts  and  consoles,  and  gives  and  takes 
awaj-  the  blessings  of  life  ? 

41  I  confess  that  having  passed  through  my  period  of 
scoffing  and  of  scepticism,  I  have,  here  in  this  place, 
learned  to  understand  the  value  of  religious  ceremonies, 
of  family  solemnities,  and  the  importance  of  certain 
usages  and  celebrations  around  the  domestic  hearth. 
The  base  of  all  society  must  always  be  the  family. 
There,  where  law  and  power  take  their  rise,  obedience 
should  be  taught.  Seen  in  all  their  consequences,  the 
family  bond  and  paternal  authority  are  two  principles 


The  Country  Doctor.  89 

which  are  still  too  little  developed  in  our  new  legislative 
system.  The  family,  the  district,  and  the  department 
represent  our  whole  country.  Laws  should  therefore  be 
based  on  those  three  great  divisions.  In  my  opinion, 
the  marriage  of  men  and  women,  the  birth  of  children, 
the  death  of  fathers,  cannot  be  surrounded  with  too 
many  observances.  That  which  makes  the  strength  of 
Catholicism,  that  which  has  rooted  it  so  firmly  in  the 
manners  and  morals  of  the  people,  is  precisely  the 
splendor  by  which  it  associates  itself  with  the  solemn 
things  of  life,  and  surrounds  them  with  ceremonies,  so 
simple  and  appealing,  yet  so  grand  whenever  the  priest 
rises  to  the  height  of  his  mission,  and  makes  his  office 
accord  with  the  sublimity  of  Christian  morality.  For- 
merly I  used  to  think  the  Catholic  religion  a  mass  of 
bigotry  and  superstition,  cleverly  manipulated,  which  an 
intelligent  civilization  ought  to  bring  to  justice  ;  here, 
in  this  village,  I  have  come  to  recognize  both  its  politi- 
cal necessity  and  its  moral  usefulness  ;  here  I  have 
understood  its  power  as  expressed  in  the  very  name  it 
bears.  Religion  means  bond;  and  surely  worship  —  in 
other  words,  the  expression  of  religion  —  constitutes 
the  sole  tie  that  can  bind  the  social  elements  and  give 
them  a  lasting  form.  Here,  too,  I  have  found  the  balm 
which  religion  pours  into  the  wounds  of  life :  without 
discussing  the  matter,  I  feel  how  admirably  it  harmonizes 
with  the  passionate  nature  and  manners  of  the  southern 
peoples. 

"  Take  the  other  road,"  said  the  doctor,  interrupting 
himself;  "we  are  making  for  the  upland.  There  we 
shall  overlook  two  valleys,  and  you  will  have  a  fine 
view.     At  a  height  of  three  thousand  feet  above  the 


90  The  Country  Doctor. 

Mediterranean  we  shall  see  both  Dauphine  and  Savoie, 
the  mountains  of  Lyonnais,  and  the  Rhone.  We  shall 
enter  another  district,  a  mountainous  one,  where  you 
will  see,  at  a  farmhouse  owned  by  Monsieur  Gravier, 
the  second  scene  that  I  spoke  of,  —  certain  local  cere- 
monies which  realize  my  idea  of  what  is  due  to  the  great 
events  of  life.  In  this  district  mourning  is  religiously 
worn.  The  poor  will  even  beg  the  means  to  buy  black 
clothing ;  and,  under  the  circumstances,  no  one  ever 
refuses  to  help  them.  A  widow  refers  to  her  loss  nearly 
every  day,  and  alwa}'s  with  tears  ;  ten  years  after  her 
misfortune  her  feelings  are  as  deep  as  on  the  morrow  of 
the  death.  Manners  and  customs  are  patriarchal ;  the 
authority  of  the  father  is  unlimited,  —  his  word  is  law. 
[  He  eats  alone,  seated  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table  ;  his 
wife  and  his  children  wait  upon  him,  and  those  around 
never  address  him  without  using  certain  formulas  of 
respect.  Such  customs  are,  to  my  mind,  a  noble  edu- 
cation. The  result  is  that  in  this  district  the  inhabi- 
tants are,  as  a  general  thing,  upright,  thrifty,  and 
industrious.  Every  father  of  a  family  is  in\the  habit  of 
dividing  his  property  equally  among  his  children  when 
old  age  renders  him  unfit  for  labor;  his  children  then 
support  him.  In  the  last  century,  an  old  man,  ninety 
years  of  age,  after,  making  this  division  among  his  four 
children,  spent  three  months  of  eveiy  year  with  each  of 
them.  When  he  left  the  eldest  to  go  to  the  3'oungest, 
a  friend  said  to  him,  '  Well,  are  3'ou  satisfied?'  'Yes, 
truly,'  replied  the  old  man  ;  '  they  treat  me  as  if  I  were 
their  child.'  That  saying  seemed  so  remarkable  to 
an  officer  named  Vauvenargues,  a  celebrated  moralist 
then  in  garrison  at  Grenoble,  that  he  repeated  it  in  the 


The  Country  Doctor.  91 

salons  of  Paris,  where  the  touching  words  were  heard 
and  afterwards  published  by  a  writer  named  Chamfort. 
In  this  district  we  often  hear  sayings  that  are  even 
more  striking,  but  the}-  lack  historians  able  to  repeat 
them." 

"I  have  seen  the  Moravian  brotherhoods,  and  the 
Lollards  of  Bohemia  and  Hungary,"  said  Genestas  : 
"  they  are  Christians  who  bear  some  resemblance  to 
your  mountaineers.  Those  worthy  souls  endure  the 
miseries  of  war  with  the  patience  of  angels." 

"Monsieur,"  replied  the  doctor,  "simple  manners 
and  customs  must  be  nearly  alike  in  all  parts  of  the 
world.  Truth  has  but  one  aspect.  A  country  life  may 
kill  ideas,  but  it  also  weakens  vice  and  develops  vir- 
tue. In  fact,  the  less  men  congregate  together,  the 
fewer  the  crimes,  the  misdemeanors,  the  evil  feelings 
we  encounter.  The  purity  of  the  air  has  much  to  do 
with  the  innocency  of  morals." 

TheHwo  horsemen,  who  were  riding  at  a  foot-pace 
along  a  ston}^  road,  now  reached  the  upland  of  which 
Benassis  had  spoken.  This  tract  of  ground  turns  round 
the  edge  of  a  high  peak  of  bare  rock  which  overtops  it, 
and  on  which  there  is  not  a  vestige  of  vegetation.  The 
summit  is  gray,  cleft  on  all  sides,  abrupt  and  inaccessi- 
ble ;  the  fertile  upland,  hemmed  in  by  rocks,  stretches 
below  this  peak  and  forms  an  irregular  terrace  of  about 
thirty  acres  in  breadth.  Towards  the  south,  the  eye 
takes  in,  through  a  wide  notch,  the  French  Maurienne, 
Dauphine,  the  crags  of  Savoie,  and  the  mountains  of 
Lyonnais.  As  Genestas  gazed  at  the  view,  just  then 
illuminated  b}T  the  sunshine  of  a  spring  morning,  cries 
of  lamentation  reached  his  ear. 


92  The  Country  Doctor. 

"Come,"  said  Benassis,  "the  Wail  has  begun.1 
Wail  is  the  name  they  give  to  this  part  of  the  funeral 
ceremonies." 

The  soldier  then  perceived,  on  the  western  flank  of 
the  precipice,  a  large  farm  which  forms  a  square  enclo- 
sure. The  arched  gateway  of  granite  has  an  air  of 
grandeur  which  the  decay  of  its  structure,  the  age  of 
the  trees  that  surround  it,  and  the  plants  which  grow  in 
its  clefts,  only  enhance.  The  house  itself  is  at  the  far- 
ther end  of  the  courtyard,  on  each  side  of  which  are 
barns,  sheepfolds,  stables,  cattle-sheds  and  carriage- 
houses  ;  in  the  centre  is  a  large  pool  where  the  manure 
lies  rotting.  This  yard,  whose  aspect  in  rich  and  pop- 
ulous farms  is  usually  so  animated,  was  now  silent  and 
gloom}-.  The  door  of  the  poultry-yard  was  closed  ; 
all  the  animals  were  shut  up  in  their  own  quarters, 
whence  their  cries  were  scarcel}T  heard.  The  stables 
and  the  sheds  were  carefully  closed.  The  path  leading 
to  the  house  had  been  swept.  Such  perfect  order  where 
disorder  usually  reigned,  the  lack  of  life  and  movement 
in  so  noisy  a  place,  the  calm  of  the  mountain,  the 
shadow  cast  from  the  summit  of  the  peak,  all  contribu- 
ted to  affect  the  soul.  Though  Genestas  was  accus- 
tomed to  strong  impressions,  he  was  unable  to  restrain 
a  shudder  wmen  he  saw  a  dozen  men  and  women  ranged 
on  either  side  the  door  of  the  great  hall,  crying  aloud 
with  terrible  unanimity  of  intonation,  "The  Master 
is  dead  !  "  —  repeating  it  twice  during  the  time  it  took 
him  to  walk  from  the  gateway  to  the  house.  When  the 
cry  ceased,  loud  moans  came  from  the  interior,  and  the 
roice  of  a  woman  was  heard  through  the  windows. 

1  Le  Chant  est  commence. 


Tlie  Country  Doctor.  93 

"  I  dare  not  intrude  upon  such  grief,"  said  Genestas 
to  the  doctor. 

"  I  alwaj'S  visit  the  afflicted,"  answered  Benassis  ; 
"  partly  to  see  that  no  bad  effects  are  caused  by  grief, 
and  partly  to  give  a  certificate  of  the  death :  you  can 
accompany  me  without  scruple.  Besides,  the  scene  is 
so  imposing  and  we  shall  find  so  man}'  persons  present, 
that  you  will  not  be  noticed." 

As  Genestas  followed  the  doctor,  he  saw  that  the 
first  room  was  full  of  family  relations.  The  two  men 
passed  through  this  assemblage  and  placed  themselves 
near  the  door  of  a  bedroom,  which  opened  into  a  great 
hall  that  served  as  kitchen  and  living-room  for  the 
family,  or  we  might  rather  say,  colony ;  for  the  length 
of  the  table  indicated  the  habitual  presence  of  about 
fort}'  persons.  The  arrival  of  Benassis  interrupted  the 
discourse  of  a  woman  of  tall  stature,  plainly  dressed, 
whose  hair  was  dishevelled,  and  who  held,  with  an  elo- 
quent gesture,  the  hand  of  the  dead  man  clasped  within 
her  own.  The  latter,  dressed  in  his  best  clothes,  lay 
rigid  on  his  bed,  the  curtains  of  which  had  been  drawn 
back.  The  calm  face,  which  told  of  heaven,  and  above 
all,  the  silvery  hair,  produced  a  scenic  effect.  On 
either  side  of  the  bed  stood  the  children  and  the  nearest 
relations  of  the  married  pair.  Each  side  of  the  family 
kept  its  own  place,  —  the  relations  of  the  wife  to  the  left, 
those  of  the  husband  to  the  right.  Men  and  women  were 
on  their  knees  and  praying ;  most  of  them  were  weep- 
ing. Wax  tapers  surrounded  the  bed.  The  curate  of 
the  parish  and  his  clergy  had  taken  their  station  in  the 
middle  of  the  chamber  beside  an  empt}T  bier.  It  was  a 
tragic  sight  to  see  the  head  of  the  family  in  presence 

UNIVERSITY  ) 


94  The  Country  Doctor. 

of  the  open  coffin  which  was  about  to  close  on  him 
forever. 

44  Ah!  my  dear  lord,"  said  the  widow,  pointing  to 
the  doctor,  "  if  the  science  of  that  good  man  could  not 
save  thee,  it  was  written  above  that  thou  shouldst  pre- 
cede me  to  the  grave !  Yes,  this  hand  is  cold  that 
once  pressed  mine  in  friendship.  I  have  lost,  forever, 
my  dear  companion ;  and  our  house  has  lost  its  pre- 
cious head  ;  for  thou  wert  indeed  our  guide  !  Alas  ! 
all  those  who  mourn  with  me  have  known  the  light  of 
thine  heart  and  the  worth  of  thy  presence  ;  but  I  alone 
knew  thy  gentleness,  tlry  patience  !  Oh,  my  husband  ! 
nry  man!  must  I  bid  thee  farewell  —  farewell  to  thee 
our  prop,  to  thee  my  good  master?  We,  thy  children, 
—  for  thou  hast  cherished  all  alike,  —  we  have  lost  our 
father !  " 

The  widow  threw  herself  upon  the  body,  clasped  it 
in  her  arms,  bathed  it  with  tears,  warmed  it  with  kisses, 
and  while  she  did  so  the  serving-folk  cried  out,  — 

ki  Our  Master  is  dead  !  " 

"  Yes,"  resumed  the  widow,  "  he  is  dead.  The  well- 
beloved  man  who  gave  us  our  daily  bread,  who  planted 
and  garnered  for  us,  who  watched  for  our  happiness, 
who  led  us  through  life  with  an  authority  that  was  full 
of  gentleness  —  he  is  dead  !  I  ma\-  say  it  now  in  his 
presence,  he  never  gave  me  a  moment's  grief;  he  was 
good,  and  strong,  and  patient;  when  we  tortured  him  to 
restore  his  precious  health,  the  dear  lamb  said  to  us, 
'  Leave  me  in  peace,  my  children  ;  all  is  useless,'  in  the 
self-same  voice  with  which  he  had  said,  a  few  days 
earlier,  '  All  is  well  with  me,  my  friends.'  Yes,  great 
God  !  a  few  days  have  sufficed  to  take  away  from  us  the 


The  Country  Doctor.  95 

joy  of  our  home ;  to  darken  our  lives  by  closing  the 
eyes  of  the  best  of  men,  the  most  upright,  the  most 
venerated  of  men,  —  a  man  who  had  not  his  equal  at  the 
plough  ;  who  went  fearlessly,  by  night  and  by  da}r,  upon 
the  mountains,  and  returned  always  with  a  smile  for  nis 
wife  and  children.  He  was  the  loved  of  all.  When  he 
was  absent,  our  hearth  was  sad ;  we  had  no  appetite  to 
eat.  Alas !  how  will  it  be  with  us  when  our  guardian 
angel  is  under  ground,  and  we  see  him  no  more?  — 
no  more,  m}r  friends  !  no  more,  my  good  relations  !  no 
more,  my  children !  Yes,  my  children  have  lost  their 
good  father ;  our  relations  have  lost  their  good  rela- 
tion ;  my  friends  have  lost  a  good  friend  ;  and  I  have 
lost  my  all,  for  the  house  has  lost  its  master !  " 

She  took  the  hand  of  the  dead,  knelt  down,  the  bet- 
ter to  la}r  her  face  to  his,  and  kissed  him.  The  serving- 
people  cried  aloud  three  times,  — 

"  The  Master  is  dead  !  " 

At  that  moment  the  eldest  son  approached  his  mother, 
and  said, — 

"My  mother,  the  people  from  Saint-Laurent  are 
approaching  ;  the}^  will  want  wine." 

"  My  son,"  she  answered  in  a  low  voice,  quitting  the 
solemn  and  grievous  tone  in  which  she  had  given 
utterance  to  her  feelings,  "  take  the  keys  ;  from  hence- 
forth you  are  master  here.  See  that  all  shall  find  a 
welcome  such  as  }'our  father  would  have  given ;  for 
them  let  nothing  seem  changed." 

"Would  that  I  could  see  thee  once  again,  my  noble 
man,"  she  resumed.  "Alas!  thou  canst  not  feel  me; 
I  cannot  warm  thee  !  All  that  I  now  desire  is  to  com- 
fort thee,  and  make  thee  know  that  while  I  live  thou 


96  The  Country  Doctor. 

shalt  dwell  in  the  heart  thou  hast  rendered  happy  ;  that 
thy  dear  remembrance  shall  abide  forever  in  this  cham- 
ber. Yes,  it  shall  be  full  of  thee  so  long  as  God  shall 
leave  me  here.  Hear  me,  dear  man  !  I  swear  to  keep 
thy  bed  such  as  it  is  to-day  ;  never  did  I  enter  it  with- 
out thee ;  cold  and  empt}*  it  shall  remain.  In  losing 
thee  I  have  lost  all  that  makes  the  life  of  woman, — 
master,  husband,  father,  companion,  friend,  man  — 
all  !  " 

"  The  Master  is  dead  !  "  wailed  the  servants. 

While  the  cry  was  caught  up  and  echoed,  the  widow 
took  scissors  that  were  hanging  at  her  girdle,  and  cut 
off  her  hair,  which  she  placed  in  the  hand  of  her  hus- 
band.    Silence  fell  on  all. 

"That  act,"  said  Benassis,  "signifies  that  she  will 
not  remarry  ;  many  of  her  relations  expected  her  reso- 
lution." 

"Take  it,  m}7  master,"  she  said,  with  a  transport  of 
heart  and  voice  that  stirred  all  present.  "  Keep,  in 
the  tomb,  the  faith  that  I  have  pledged  thee.  Thus  we 
shall  be  one  forever ;  and  I  will  dwell  among  thy  chil- 
dren, and  love  the  offspring  which  kept  thy  spirit 
young.  Pray  God  thou  mayst  hear  me,  my  man,  my 
only  treasure,  and  learn  that  thou  canst  make  me  live  ; 
thou,  dead,  canst  make  me  live  to  be  obedient  to  thy 
sacred  will,  and  to  honor  thy  memory !  " 

Benassis  pressed  the  soldier's  hand  to  invite  him  to 
follow  him,  and  the}'  went  out.  The  first  hall  was  full 
of  persons  who  had  come  from  another  district  among 
the  mountains.  All  were  silent  and  absorbed,  as  if  the 
sorrow  and  mourning  which  hovered  above  the  dwelling 
had  already  seized  upon  their  own  lives.     As  Benassis 


The  Country  Doctor.  97 

and  the  captain  crossed  the  threshold,  they  heard  one  of 
the  new-comers  sa}T  to  the  sons  of  the  deceased,  — 

"When  did  he  die?" 

"Ah!"  cried  the  eldest,  who  was  a  man  about 
twenty-five  years  of  age,  "I  did  not  see  him  die.  He 
called  me,  and  I  was  not  there  !  "  Sobs  choked  his 
words,  but  he  continued:  "The  night  before,  he  said 
to  me,  '  Boy,  go  to  the  village  and  pay  our  taxes ;  my 
funeral  ceremonies  may  hinder  you  from  thinking  of 
them  ;  we  might  be  tardy  in  paying  them,  and  that  has 
never  happened.'  He  seemed  better,  and  I  went. 
During  my  absence  he  died,  and  I  received  no  last 
embrace.  In  his  dying  moments  he  did  not  see  me  at 
his  side,  as  I  had  ever  been  !  " 

"  The  Master  is  dead  !  "  cried  all  the  people. 

"Alas!  he  is  dead  ;  and  I  received  neither  his  last 
glance  nor  his  last  sigh.  Why  think  of  taxes?  Was 
it  not  better  to  lose  our  mone}T  than  to  have  left  the 
house  ?  Could  our  whole  fortune  pay  me  for  that  last 
farewell?  No;  my  God!  If  thy  father  be  ill,  never 
leave  him,  Jean  ;  you  will  lay  up  remorse  that  ma}'  last 
your  lifetime." 

"My  friend,"  said  Genestas  to  the  young  man,  "  I 
have  seen  thousands  of  men  die  on  the  battlefields,  and 
death  never  waited  for  their  sons  to  come  and  bid  them 
farewell.     Take  comfort;  you  are  not  the  only  one." 

"A  father,  monsieur!"  he  answered,  bursting  into 
tears.     "  A  father,  who  was  so  good  a  man  !  " 

"  This  funeral  oration,"  said  Benassis,  as  he  led  the 
captain  towards  the  farm-buildings,  "  will  last  until  the 
bod}'  is  placed  in  the  coffin,  and  during  all  that  time 
the  language  of  the  desolate  woman  will   increase  in 

7 


98  The  Country  Doctor. 

strength  and  imagery.  But  to  speak  thus  before  that 
imposing  assembly,  a  woman  must  have  earned  the 
right  to  do  so  by  a  spotless  life.  If  the  widow  could 
be  reproached  with  the  least  wrong-doing,  she  would 
not  dare  to  utter  a  word :  otherwise,  she  would  con- 
demn herself,  and  be  at  once  her  own  accuser  and  her 
judge.  Such  a  custom,  which  judges  both  the  living 
and  the  dead,  is  sublime,  is  it  not?  They  will  put  on 
their  mourning  eight  days  hence,  before  the  last  general 
meeting.  Meantime,  the  family  relations  will  remain 
with  the  widow  and  children  to  help  them  to  arrange 
their  affairs,  and  to  offer  consolation.  This  assemblage 
of  friends  has  a  great  influence  on  the  minds  of  all ;  it 
represses  evil  passions  by  that  natural  human  respect 
which  takes  hold  of  men  when  the}'  are  in  presence  of 
one  another.  On  the  day  when  the  mourning  garments 
are  first  put  on,  a  solemn  repast  is  prepared,  at  which 
all  the  relations  are  present,  and  bid  each  other  fare- 
well. All  is  done  gravely ;  and  any  one  who  failed  in 
the  duties  imposed  by  the  death  of  the  head  of  his 
family  would  have  no  one  present  at  his  own  Wail." 

At  this  moment  the  doctor,  who  was  near  the  cattle- 
shed,  opened  the  door,  and  made  the  soldier  enter, 
wishing  to  show  it  to  him. 

"See,  captain,"  he  said,  "all  our  cattle-sheds  have 
been  rebuilt  on  this  plan.     Is  it  not  fine?" 

Genestas  could  not  help  admiring  the  vast  area 
where  the  cows  and  oxen  were  ranged  in  two  lines  ; 
their  tails  towards  the  lateral  walls,  their  heads  facing 
the  middle  of  the  building,  into  which  the3r  entered  by 
a  rather  wide  alley  between  their  stalls  and  each  outer 
wall.     The  open   mangers  gave  to  view  their  horned 


The  Country  Doctor.  99 

heads  and  their  brilliant  eyes.  A  master  could  thus 
run  his  e}Te  with  ease  over  all  his  cattle.  The  fodder, 
which  was  placed  under  the  rafters,  where  a  sort  of 
floor  had  been  constructed,  was  thrown  from  thence, 
without  labor  or  waste,  into  the  racks.  Between  the 
two  rows  of  mangers  was  a  wide  paved  space,  clean, 
and  well  ventilated  b}*  a  current  of  air. 

"During  the  winter,"  remarked  Benassis,  walking 
with  Genestas  to  the  centre  of  the  stable,  "  the  veillees 
—  that  is,  the  evening  gatherings  and  occupations  — 
are  carried  on  in  this  place.  Here  the  work-tables  are 
set,  and  everybody  is  kept  warm  at  no  cost.  The 
sheepfolds  are  built  on  the  same  plan.  You  have  no 
idea  how  readily  all  animals  adapt  themselves  to  a  sys- 
tem. I  often  admire  them  as  they  file  into  the  stables. 
Each  knows  its  station,  and  makes  way  for  those  who 
should  pass  first.  See,  there  is  room  between  the  ani- 
mals and  the  outer  wall  to  either  milk  them  or  rub  them 
down.  The  floor  inclines  enough  to  let  the  water  run 
off  easily." 

"  This  cattle-shed  enables  me  to  judge  of  all  the 
rest,"  said  Genestas.  "Without  meaning  to  flatter 
you,  you  have  indeed  got  fine  results." 

"  Not  obtained  without  trouble,'"  answered  Benassis. 
"  But  see  what  beasts  !  " 

"They  are  certainly  magnificent,  and  you  have  good 
reason  to  boast  of  them." 

"  Now,"  resumed  the  doctor,  when  they  had  passed 
through  the  gatewray  and  mounted  their  horses,  "  wre 
will  ride  across  our  newly  cleared  ground  and  b}T  some 
wheat-fields,  —  a  little  corner  of  my  district  which  I 
call  '  La'Beauce.'  " 


100  The  Country  Doctor. 

The  two  horsemen  rode  for  an  hour  over  hill  and  dale, 
and  among  the  fields,  on  the  cultivation  of  which  the 
soldier  complimented  the  physician.  Then  they  regained 
the  village  boundaries,  and  followed  the  mountain-road, 
sometimes  silent,  sometimes  conversing,  according  as 
the  pace  of  their  steeds  allowed  them  to  speak  or  com- 
pelled them  to  keep  silence. 

"I  promised  yesterday,"  said  Benassis,  as  they  en- 
tered a  little  gorge  by  which  they  were  to  issue  into  the 
wide  valley,  "  to  show  3'ou  one  of  our  soldiers  who 
came  back  from  the  army  after  the  fall  of  Napoleon. 
If  I  am  not  mistaken,  we  shall  find  him  a  few  steps 
farther  on,  digging  out  a,  sort  of  natural  reservoir,  where 
the  water  from  the  mountain  collects  and  which  the  silt 
is  apt  to  choke  with  its  deposits.  But  to  make  the  man 
interesting,  I  must  tell  you  the  stoiy  of  his  life.  He  is 
named  Gondrin,  and  was  taken  by  the  draft  of  1792, 
when  eighteen  3'ears  of  age,  and  put  in  the  artillery. 
As  a  common  soldier,  he  went  through  all  the  Italian 
campaigns  under  Napoleon,  followed  him  to  Egypt,  re- 
turned to  France  after  the  peace  of  Amiens,  was  then 
enrolled  among  the  pontoniers  of  the  Guard,  served 
steadily  in  German}',  and,  for  a  final  service,  the  poor 
laborer  went  to  Russia." 

"  Then  we  are  brothers-in-arms,  as  it  were,"  said 
Genestas.  "I  went  through  the  same  campaigns. 
Men  had  to  be  made  of  iron  to  resist  the  changes  and 
caprices  of  all  those  climates.  Upon  m}T  word,  the 
good  God  must  have  given  a  special  lease  of  life  to 
those  who  are  still  on  their  pins  after  marching  over 
Italy,  Egypt,  German},  Portugal,  and  Russia." 

"  Well,  you  '11  see  the  remnants  of  such  a  man.      Tou 


The  Country  Doctor.  101 

know  all  about  the  retreat,  —  useless  therefore  to  tell 
you.  '1\ly  fellow  was  a  pontonier  at  the  passage  of  the 
Beresina.  He  helped  to  construct  the  bridge  over  which 
the  army  passed  ;  and  in  order  to  plant  the  first  props, 
he  went  into  the  water  up  to  his  middle.  General  Ebk;, 
who  had  the  pontoniers  in  his  command,  could  find  only 
fort}'-two  who  had  grit  enough,  as  Gondrin  says,  to 
attempt  the  work.  The  general  himself  got  into  the 
water  to  encourage  and  support  them,  and  he  promised 
eacli  man  an  extra  pension  of  a  thousand  francs  and 
the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  honor.  The  first  man  who 
entered  the  Beresina  had  his  leg  taken  off  by  a  block  of 
ice,  and  the  man  followed  his  leg.  But  you  will  under- 
stand the  difficulties  of  the  undertaking  by  the  results. 
Of  the  forty-two  pontoniers,  Gondrin  is  the  only  one 
alive  at  this  da\\  Thirty-nine  perished  in  the  Beresina, 
and  two  others  died  miserabl}-  in  a  Polish  hospital. 
Our  poor  fellow  did  not  get  back  from  Wilna  till  1814, 
after  the  return  of  the  Bourbons.  General  Eble,  of 
whom  Gondrin  can't  speak  without  tears  in  his  e}es, 
was  dead.  The  old  pontonier,  then  deaf  and  infirm,  and 
unable  to  read  or  write,  could  find  no  other  protector 
or  defender.  He  begged  his  wa}-  to  Paris,  and  made 
efforts  at  the  War  office  to  obtain,  not  the  promised 
pension  of  a  thousand  francs,  not  the  cross  of  the 
Legion  of  honor,  —  merely  the  retiring  pension  to  which 
he  was  entitled  after  twemVy-two  3-ears'  service  and  I 
can't  tell  you  how  many  campaigns.  In  vain  ;  he  could 
get  neither  back-pay  nor  the  costs  of  his  journey  home- 
ward, nor  his  pension.  After  a  year  of  useless  petition- 
ing, during  which  he  implored  the  help  of  those  whose 
lives  he  had  helped  to  save,  the  old  man  came  back 


102  The  Country  Doctor. 

here,  broken  down  but  resigned.  This  unrecognized 
hero  now  digs  ditches  at  ten  sous  a  fathom.  Accus- 
tomed to  work  in  swamps,  he  undertakes,  as  he  says,  the 
work  which  no  other  man  is  willing  to  do.  By  draining 
bogs,  and  cutting  trenches  through  inundated  lands,  he 
earns,  perhaps,  three  francs  a  day.  His  deafness  gives 
a  sad  expression  to  his  face.  He  is  naturally  no  talker, 
but  he  is  full  of  soul.  He  and  I  are  good  friends ;  he 
dines  with  me  on  the  anniversaries  of  the  battle  of 
Austerlitz,  the  Emperor's  fete-day,  and  the  disasters  at 
Waterloo ;  and  I  alwa3's  present  him  at  dessert  with  a 
napoleon,  which  pays  for  his  quarterly  allowance  of  wine. 
The  feelings  of  respect  which  I  have  for  that  man  are 
shared  by  the  whole  community,  who  would  willingly 
support  him.  If  he  works,  it  is  from  self-respect.  In 
every  house  where  he  is  known  the  people  follow  my 
example  and  invite  him  to  dinner.  I  could  not  make 
him  take  my  twenty-franc  piece  if  it  were  not  given  as 
a  portrait  of  the  Emperor.  The  injustice  he  has  met 
with  has  wounded  him  deeply,  but  he  grieves  more  over 
the  loss  of  his  cross  than  over  that  of  his  pension. 
When  General  Eble  presented  the  surviving  pontoniers 
to  the  Emperor  after  the  bridge  was  built,  Napoleon 
kissed  our  poor  Gondrin,  who  might  now  be  dead  but 
for  the  glory  of  that  embrace.  He  lives  in  the  remem- 
brance of  it,  and  in  the  hope  of  Napoleon's  return. 
Nothing  could  convince  him  that  the  Emperor  is  dead  ; 
he  is  persuaded  that  his  captivity  is  due  to  Englishmen, 
and  I  believe  that  on  the  slightest  pretext  he  would  kill 
even  the  best  of  those  rich  aldermen  who  are  now 
travelling  for  their  pleasure  through  France." 

"  Come,  let  us  get  on  !  "  cried  Genestas,  rousing  him- 


m, 


}he  Country  Doctor.  103 

self  from  the  deep  attention  with  which  he  had  been 
listening  to  the  doctor.     "  I  wish  to  see  that  man." 

And  the  two  riders  put  their  horses  to  a  quick  trot. 

"  The  second  soldier  of  whom  I  spoke  to  you,"  said 
Benassis,  "  is  still  another  of  those  men  of  iron  who 
make  up  our  armies.  He  has  lived,  as  all  French  sol- 
diers do,  amid  shot  and  wounds  and  victories.  He  has 
suffered  much  and  worn  no  epaulets  but  the  woollen 
ones.  His  nature  is  jovial ;  he  loves  Napoleon  to  fan- 
aticism, and  the  Emperor  gave  him  the  cross  on  the 
field  of  Valontina.  A  true  Dauphinois,  he  has  always 
taken  care  to  keep  in  line ;  and  thus  he  has  his  retiring- 
pension  and  also  that  of  the  Legion.  He  is  an  infantry- 
soldier,  named  Goguelat,  and  entered  the  guard  in  1812. 
After  a  fashion,  he's  a  sort  of  housekeeper  to  Gondrin. 
The}T  both  live  with  the  widow  of  a  pedler,  to  whom 
they  pay  over  their  money.  The  good  creature  lodges, 
feeds,  clothes,  and  cares  for  them  as  if  they  were  her 
children.  Goguelat  is  the  postman  of  the  district.  In 
that  capacit}*  he  is  also  the  gossip  of  the  neighborhood, 
and  the  habit  of  retailing  news  has  made  him  the  orator 
of  the  veillees,  or  evening  gatherings,  the  talker-in-chief; 
in  fact,  Gondrin  looks  upon  him  as  a  wit,  and  a  knowing 
fellow.  When  Goguelat  discourses  of  Napoleon,  the 
other  seems  to  guess  at  his  words  by  the  mere  motion 
of  his  lips.  If  the}'  are  going  to-night  to  a  veillee  which 
is  to  take  place  in  one  of  nry  barns,  and  if  we  can  see 
them  without  being  seen  ourselves,  3011  shall  be  a  spec- 
tator of  the  scene.  Here  we  are  at  the  pool,  but  I 
don't  see  my  friend  Gondrin." 

The  doctor  and  his  companion  looked  about  them 
carefully,    and    saw    nothing    but    the    pick-axe,    the 


104  The  Country  Doctor. 

shovel,  the  wheelbarrow,  and  the  militar}'  jacket  of 
the  pontonier,  lying  beside  a  mound  of  black  mud  ;  no 
vestige  of  the  man  could  be  seen  along  the  various 
stony  beds  made  by  the  streams  of  water,  which 
formed  irregular  hollows,  nearly  all  of  them  shaded 
by  little  shrubs. 

41  He  can't  be  far  off.    Ohe  !  Gondrin  ! "  cried  Benassis. 

At  this  moment  Genestas  observed  the  smoke  of  a 
pipe  issuing  from  the  tangled  branches  of  a  thicket, 
and  pointed  it  out  to  the  doctor,  who  repeated  his  call. 
Presently  the  old  pontonier  thrust  out  his  head,  recog- 
nized the  ma3'or,  and  came  down  a  little  pathwa}\ 

"  Well,  ray  old  man  !  "  cried  Benassis,  making  a  sort 
of  ear-trumpet  with  the  palm  of  his  hand.  "  Here  is  a 
comrade,  an  Egyptian,  who  wants  to  see  3Tou." 

Gondrin  raised  his  head  quickly  and  gave  Genestas 
the  deep  scrutinizing  glance  which  old  soldiers  learn  to 
give  at  each  other  through  the  habit  of  prompt  decision 
in  moments  of  danger.  Seeing  the  red  ribbon  in  the 
captain's  buttonhole,  he  silently  carried  the  back  of  his 
hand  to  his  forehead. 

"  If  the  Little  Corporal  were  still  alive,"  cried  the 
officer,  "}Tou  would  have  your  cross,  and  a  fine  pen- 
sion ;  for  3Tou  saved  the  lives  of  those  who  wore  the 
epaulets,  and  who  got  across  that  river  on  the  first  of 
October,  1812.  But,  my  friend,"  added  the  captain, 
getting  off  his  horse,  and  taking  the  man's  hand  in  his 
own  with  a  sudden  impulse  of  the  heart,"  I  am  not  the 
minister  of  war." 

Hearing  these  words,  the  old  soldier  straightened  him- 
self on  his  legs,  after  knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe 
and  laying  it  away  ;  then  he  replied,  bowing  his  head  :  — 


'The  Country  Doctor.  105 

4k  I  only  did  my  duty,  my  officer;  but  others  have 
not  done  theirs  by  me.  The}'  demand  my  papers ! 
1  My  papers?'  I  said  to  them,  4  why,  the}'  are  the 
29th  Bulletin.'" 

' '  You  must  try  again,  comrade.  By  the  help  of  a  little 
influence  you  can't  fail  in  these  days  to  obtain  justice." 

4i  Justice  !  "  cried  the  old  man  in  a  tone  which  made 
the  doctor  and  rhe  captain  quiver. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  during  which  the 
riders  looked  at  this  shattered  relic  of  the  iron  sol- 
diery picked  by  Napoleon  from  three  generations  of 
martial  men.  Gondrin  was  certainly  a  fine  specimen 
of  that  indestructible  mass  which  might  bend,  but  was 
never  broken.  The  old  man  was  scarcely  five  feet  in 
height ;  his  shoulders  and  chest  were  enormously  de- 
veloped ;  his  tanned  face,  seamed  with  wrinkles,  hollow 
and  yet  muscular,  still  retained  some  traces  of  a  war- 
like career.  Everything  about  him  was  rough-hewn. 
His  brow  was  like  a  square  of  stone ;  the  scant}'  gray 
hair  grew  feebly,  as  though  life  were  already  lacking  to 
the  weary  head  ;  but  his  arms,  covered  with  hair  like  his 
breast,  which  was  partly  seen  through  the  opening  of 
the  coarse  shirt,  showed  extraordinary  vigor,  and  he 
stood  as  firmly  on  his  bent  and  twisted  legs  as  if 
they  were  an  immovable  pedestal. 

kfc Justice!"  he  repeated,  "there's  none  for  such  as 
we  !  Who  is  there  to  stand  up  for  us,  and  get  us  our 
dues?  The  bread-basket  has  got  to  be  filled,"  he  said, 
tapping  his  stomach,  "it  won't  give  us  time  to  wait. 
And  so,  as  the  promises  of  men  who  spend  their  lives 
in  warm  corners  of  the  government-offices  have  n't 
the  virtue  of  vegetables,  I've  come  back   here  to  get 


106  The  Country  Doctor. 

m3'  Pa>'  ollt  °f  mother  earth,"  he  said,  striking  the 
mud  with  his  shovel. 

"  Old  comrade,  this  won't  do  !  "  said  Genestas.  "  I 
owe  my  life  to  3*011 ;  and  I  should  be  most  ungrateful 
if  I  did  not  do  a  hand's  turn  to  help  you.  I  remember 
crossing  the  bridge  at  Beresina,  and  I  know  other  old 
campaigners  who  keep  its  memoiy  green  ;  they  will 
help  me  to  get  your  services  to  the  country  rewarded 
as  they  should  be." 

'•You'll  be  called  a  Bonapartist ;  don't  meddle  with 
it,  my  officer.  Besides,  I  've  gone  to  the  rear ;  I  've 
made  m}*  hole  here,  like  a  spent  ball.  Only,  I  did  n't 
expect,  after  crossing  the  desert  on  camels  and  drink- 
ing my  wine  b}*  a  corner  of  the  fire  of  Moscow,  to  die 
under  the  trees  my  father  planted,"  he  said,  going  back 
to  his  work. 

"Poor  old  man,"  said  Genestas;  "in  his  place,  I 
should  do  the  same.  Alas  !  the  father  of  us  all  is  no 
more.  Monsieur,"  he  added,  turning  to  Benassis,  "the 
resignation  of  the  man  is  what  saddens  me  most.  He 
does  not  know  how  much  he  interests  me  ;  he  will  take 
me  for  one  of  those  gilded  scoundrels  who  care  nothing 
for  the  sorrows  of  a  soldier." 

The  captain  turned  abruptly,  seized  the  old  man  by 
the  hand,  and  shouted  in  his  ear :  — 

••  By  the  cross  I  wear,  which  formerly  meant  honor, 
I  swear  to  do  all  that  is  humanly  possible  to  get  you 
a  pension  ;  even  if  I  have  to  swallow  ten  rebuffs  from 
the  minister  of  war,  and  petition  the  king,  the  dauphin, 
and  the  whole  concern." 

Hearing  these  words,  old  Gondrin  trembled,  looked 
at  Genestas,  and  said,  — 


The  Country  Doctor.  107 

5t  You  must  have  been  a  common  soldier?" 

The  captain  nodded.  At  the  sign,  the  old  man 
wiped  his  hand,  took  that  of  Genestas,  wrung  it  with 
an  action  full  of  feeling,  and  said  :  — 

"  My  general,  when  I  went  into  the  water  down 
there,  I  meant  to  give  my  life  for  the  arm}* ;  therefore 
I  gained  something,  for,  you  see,  I  am  still  on  nry 
stumps.  Come,  do  you  want  to  know  what  is  really 
at  the  bottom  of  my  heart?  Well,  here  it  is  !  ever  since 
the  other  was  driven  away  I  have  had  no  interest  in 
anything.  They  've  put  me  here,"  he  added  gayly, 
pointing  to  the  ground;  "I've  got  twenty  thousand 
francs  to  get  out  of  it,  and  I  '11  take  them  in  detail,  — 
as  the  other  used  to  say." 

"Well,  comrade,"  said  Genestas,  much  moved  b}- 
the  sublimity  of  this  forgiveness,  "you  have  here,  at 
least,  the  one  thing  you  cannot  prevent  me  from  giving 
you-" 

He  struck  his  heart,  looked  earnestly  at  the  old  man 
for  a  moment,  remounted  his  horse,  and  rode  away 
beside  Benassis. 

"  Such  administrative  cruelties  foment  the  quarrel 
of  the  poor  against  the  rich,"  said  the  doctor.  "The 
men  to  whom  power  is  momentarily  confided  never 
think  seriously  of  the  effect  in  the  long  run  of  an  injus- 
tice done  to  a  man  of  the  people.  A  poor  man,  obliged 
to  earn  his  daily  bread,  does  not  struggle  long  with 
them,  that  is  true  ;  but  he  talks,  and  finds  an  echo  in 
other  suffering  hearts.  Each  iniquhy  is  multiplied  by 
the  number  of  those  who  feel  that  it  strikes  them.  The 
leaven  works.  It  is  nothing  at  first,  but  it  leads  to 
dire  evil ;  such  injustices  keep  up  in  the  minds  of  the 


108  The  Country  Doctor. 

people  a  covert  hatred  against  social  superiority.  The 
bourgeois  becomes,  and  remains,  an  enem}"  to  the  poor 
man,  who  forthwith  puts  him  outside  the  pale  of  law 
and  deceives  and  robs  him.  To  the  poor,  robbery  is 
no  longer  a  delinquency  or  a  crime,  but  a  vengeance. 
If,  when  a  question  of  justice  to  the  poor  man  arises, 
an  administrator  maltreats  him  and  cheats  him  of  his 
acquired  rights,  how  can  we  expect  the  unhappy  starv- 
ing creature  to  feel  resignation  at  his  wrongs,  or  respect 
for  property.  It  makes  me  quiver  to  think  that  some 
young  clerk  whose  business  it  is  to  dust  the  papers  in 
a  government  office,  enjoys  the  thousand  francs  pension 
that  was  promised  to  Gondrin.  And  yet  you  will  find 
persons  who  have  never  realized  the  extremes  of  suffer- 
ing, denouncing  the  excesses  of  popular  vengeance ! 
On  the  day  when  our  government  gives  cause  for  more 
individual  misery  than  prosperit}'  its  overthrow  hangs 
hy  a  thread  ;  in  overthrowing  it,  the  people  square  the 
account  after  their  own  fashion.  Statesmen  should 
picture  to  their  minds  the  poor  man  sitting  at  the  feet 
of  Justice,  —  a  divinity  that  was  invented  for  him 
alone." 

As  they  reached  the  confines  of  the  village,  Benassis 
saw  two  persons  walking  before  them  on  the  road,  and 
he  said  to  the  captain,  who  had  been  riding  pensively 
for  some  time  :  — 

"You  have  seen  the  resigned  poverty  of  an  army 
veteran,  now  you  shall  see  that  of  an  old  husbandman. 
Here 's  a  man  who  all  his  life  has  dug  and  tilled  and 
sowed  and  reaped  for  the  interests  of  others." 

Genestas  observed  an  old  man  walking  in  compan}' 
with  an  old  woman.     The  man  seemed  to  suffer  from 


The  Country  Doctor.  109 

sciatica,  and  walked  with  difficulty,  his  feet  in  wretched 
wooden  shoes.  On  his  shoulder  he  carried  a  work- 
man's satchel,  in  the  pocket  of  which  were  a  number 
of  tools,  whose  handles,  blackened  by  sweat  and  by 
long  usage,  jostled  together  with  a  slight  noise.  The 
pocket  on  the  other  side  of  the  satchel  contained  bread, 
a  few  raw  onions,  and  some  nuts.  The  man's  legs 
seemed  distorted  ;  his  back  was  bent  double  b}-  habitual 
toil,  which  forced  him  to  walk  in  a  decrepit  attitude, 
and  to  lean  on  a  long  stick  to  preserve  his  equilibrium. 
His  hair,  white  as  snow,  hung  down  beneath  a  miser- 
able hat,  rust}T  from  the  action  of  the  weather,  and  re- 
sewn  here  and  there  with  white  thread.  His  garments 
of  coarse  cloth  were  patched  in  a  hundred  places,  show- 
ing diversities  of  color.  He  was,  in  fact,  a  sort  of 
human  ruin,  and  none  of  the  characteristics  which 
make  other  ruins  so  touching  were  lacking  here.  His 
wife,  more  erect  than  himself,  but  likewise  clothed  in 
rags,  wore  a  coarse  cap,  and  carried  on  her  back,  sus- 
pended by  a  strap  passed  through  its  handles,  an 
earthenware  jug,  which  was  round  in  outline  and  flat- 
tened on  the  sides. 

The  pair  raised  their  heads  as  the}r  heard  the  horses' 
feet,  recognized  Benassis,  and  stopped  short.  These 
two  old  persons,  one  decrepit  through  toil,  the  other, 
his  faithful  companion,  equally  a  wreck,  both  of  them 
with  faces  whose  features  were  effaced  by  wrinkles, 
with  skins  blackened  by  the  sun  and  hardened  by 
the  inclemencies  of  the  wreather,  were  grievous  to  be- 
hold. If  the  stoiy  of  their  lives  had  not  been  written 
on  their  countenances,  their  attitudes  would  have  re- 
vealed it.     Both  had  toiled  ceaselessly,  and  ceaselessly 


110  The  Country  Doctor. 

had  they  suffered  together,  with  many  griefs  to  share, 
and  few  joys.  They  seemed  to  have  grown  used  to 
their  hapless  fate,  just  as  prisoners  grow  accustomed 
to  their  prison ;  in  them,  all  was  simple-mindedness. 
Their  faces  were  not  devoid  of  a  certain  cheerful  frank- 
ness. If  closely  examined,  their  monotonous  life  —  the 
lot  of  the  poor  —  seemed  almost  enviable.  They  bore 
the  marks  of  suffering,  but  not  of  grief. 

"  Well,  my  brave  old  Moreau  ;  so  you  persist  in  still 
working?"  exclaimed  the  doctor. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  Benassis  ;  I  '11  clear  one  or  two  more 
heaths  for  you  before  I  give  up  the  ghost,"  answered 
the  old  man  merrily,  his  little  black  eyes  twinkling. 

"Is  it  wine  your  wife  is  carrying?  If  you.  won't 
take  any  rest,  at  least  3-011  must  drink  wine." 

"Rest!  wiry,  that  tires  me.  When  I'm  at  work  in 
the  sun,  clearing  the  land,  the  sun  and  the  air  put  new 
life  into  me.  As  to  wine,  yes,  monsieur,  that's  wine; 
and  I  know  very  well  it  is  you  who  have  helped  us  to 
buy  it  for  next  to  nothing  from  the  mayor  of  Conrteil. 
Ah  !  you  may  be  as  sly  as  you  please,  but  your  works 
are  known  all  the  same." 

"Well,  good-lry,  mother;  I  suppose  3Tou  are  going 
to  the  play  at  Champferlu  to-day?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  it  began  last  night." 

"Keep  up  your  courage,"  said  Benassis;  "you 
ought  to  feel  happy  sometimes,  when  3-011  look  at  the 
mountain,  which  has  been  almost  wholly  cleared  by  3-our 
two  selves." 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  said  the  old  woman,  "it's  our 
work  ;  we  've  earned  the  right  to  eat  our  bread." 

"  See,"  said  Benassis  to  Genestas,  "labor  and  the 


The,  Country  Doctor.  Ill 

soil  to  cultivate,  —  that 's  the  capital  of  the  poor.  The 
worth}7  man  would  think  himself  degraded  if  he  begged 
or  went  to  an  almshouse ;  he  means  to  die  with  a 
spade  in  his  hand,  in  the  open  fields,  in  the  sunlight ! 
Faith,  he  has  a  noble  courage  !  By  dint  of  working, 
labor  has  become  his  breath  of  life ;  but  he  is  not 
afraid  of  death  ;  he  is  deeply  philosophical  without  sus- 
pecting it.  It  was  the  sight  of  old  Moreau  that  gave 
me  the  idea  of  founding  an  asj'lum  in  this  district  for 
laborers  and  working-men,  indeed  for  all  country-peo- 
ple who,  having  worked  throughout  their  lives,  have 
reached  an  honorable  but  penniless  old  age.  Monsieur, 
I  did  not  reckon  on  the  fortune  I  have  made  here, 
which  is  personally  valueless  to  me.  A  man  who  has 
fallen  from  the  summits  of  hope  needs  but  little  here 
below.  The  life  of  idlers  is  the  onty  life  that  is  costly ; 
perhaps  it  may  even  be  called  a  social  theft  to  con- 
sume without  producing.  Napoleon,  when  told  of  the 
discussions  that  arose,  after  his  fall,  on  the  subject  of 
his  pension,  declared  that  he  only  needed  a  horse  and 
three  francs  a  day.  When  I  came  here,  I  renounced 
mone}T.  Since  then,  I  have  come  to  recognize  that 
money  represents  faculties,  and  is  necessary  to  the  pur- 
pose of  doing  good.  I  have,  therefore,  in  my  will, 
given  this  house  to  found  a  home  where  unfortunate  old 
men  without  a  refuge,  and  less  proud  than  Moreau,  may 
spend  their  last  days.  Also,  a  portion  of  the  nine 
thousand  francs  a  }ear  which  m}r  farms  and  the  flour- 
mill  bring  in  will  be  employed  to  give,  in  severe  win- 
ters, a  certain  amount  of  relief  in  their  own  homes  to 
individuals  who  are  really  necessitous.  The  establish- 
ment will  be  under  the  control  of  the  municipal  council, 


112  The  Country  Doctor. 

to  whom  I  have  added  the  curate  as  president.  In  this 
way,  the  fortune  which  chance  has  helped  me  to  make  in 
this  village  will  sta}^  here.  The  rules  of  my  institution 
are  all  drawn  up  in  my  will ;  it  would  be  wearisome  if  I 
repeated  them  to}ou  now,  —  enough  to  say  that  I  have 
foreseen  everything.  I  have  even  created  a  reserve- 
fund,  which  will  some  da}T  enable  the  council  to  pay 
scholarships  to  young  persons  who  ma}T  show  a  hopeful 
inclination  for  the  arts  or  sciences.  So,  even  after  my 
death  my  work  of  civilization  will  still  go  on.  Don't 
you  know,  Captain  Bluteau,  that  when  we  once  begin  a 
task,  there  is  something  within  us  always  goading  us 
not  to  leave  it  incomplete  ?  That  instinct  of  order  and 
perfection  is  one  of  the  clearest  signs  we  have  of  a  future 
destiny.  Come,  let  us  ride  fast ;  I  must  finish  nry  rounds, 
and  there  are  still  five  or  six  patients  to  visit." 

After  trotting  sometime  in  silence,  Benassis  said  to 
his  companion  with  a  laugh  :  — 

11  Faith,  Captain  Bluteau,  you  make  me  chatter  like  a 
jackdaw,  and  you  tell  me  nothing  of  your  own  life,  which 
must  be  a  curious  one.  A  soldier  of  your  age  has  seen 
too  much  not  to  have  mairy  an  adventure  to  relate." 

"  But,"  answered  Genestas,  "  my  life  is  an  army  life  ; 
all  military  faces  look  alike.  Never  having  been  in  com- 
mand, being  always  under  orders  to  receive  or  give  the 
sabre-cuts,  I  have  done  like  all  the  rest.  I  went  where 
Napoleon  led  us  ;  I  was  in  line  in  all  the  battles  where 
the  Guard  was  engaged.  Those  events  are  well  known. 
To  look  after  our  horses,  suffer  hunger  and  thirst  at 
times,  fight  when  necessaiy, — that's  the  whole  life  of 
a  soldier.  Isn't  it  as  simple  as  how-d '3'e-do?  There 
are  private  battles  for  each  of  us  in  the  mere  casting  a 


Tlie  Country  Doctor.  113 

shoe,  which  leaves  us  in  the  lurch.  In  fact,  I  have  seen 
so  many  countries  that  seeing  has  grown  to  be  a  matter- 
of-course  ;  and  I  've  seen  so  man}7  dead  men  that  I 
have  come  to  count  my  own  life  as  a  mere  nothing." 

"Nevertheless,  you  must  have  been  personally  in 
peril  at  certain  times,  and  those  particular  dangers 
would  be  interesting  if  related  by  you." 

"  Perhaps  so,"  answered  the  captain. 

"  Well,  tell  me  the  thing  that  most  stirred  you. 
Don't  be  afraid.  I  won't  think  you  wanting  in  modesty 
even  if  you  tell  me  some  trait  of  heroism.  When  a 
man  is  certain  of  the  comprehension  of  those  in  whom 
he  confides,  may  he  not  feel  a  certain  pleasure  in  saying, 
'  I  did  that '  ?  "" 

"I'll  tell  }'ou  a  circumstance  which  at  times  lias 
caused  me  some  remorse.  During  our  fifteen  years  of 
fighting,  it  never  once  happened  that  I  killed  a  man  ex- 
cept in  legitimate  defence.  We  are  formed  in  line,  we 
charge ;  if  we  don't  knock  over  those  we  meet  they 
won't  ask  permission  to  bleed  us  ;  therefore  we  must 
sla}'  not  to  be  slain,  and  the  conscience  is  easy.  But, 
my  dear  monsieur,  I  did  once  take  the  life  of  a 
comrade  under  peculiar  circumstances.  When  I  reflect 
upon  it  the  thing  troubles  me ;  the  convulsed  face  of 
the  man  comes  back  to  me  sometimes.  You  shall  judge. 
It  was  during  the  retreat  from  Moscow.  We  looked 
more  like  a  herd  of  overdriven  cattle  than  the  grand 
arnvy  of  France.  Farewell  to  discipline  and  banners ! 
every  man  was  his  own  master ;  and  the  Emperor,  as 
you  might  sa}r,  knew  the  point  at  which  his  power 
stopped.  When  we  arrived  at  Studzianka,  a  little  vil- 
lage above  the   Beresina,  we  found   barns,   hovels  to 

8 


114  The  Country  Doctor. 

pull  down  for  firewood,  potatoes  in  the  ground,  and  a 
few  beet- roots.     For  some  time  past  we  had  met  with 
neither   houses    nor   victuals ;    so   the    army  junketed. 
First  come,  as  you  may  suppose,  were  first  served,  and 
they  ate  up  everything.     I  was  among  the  last.     Hap- 
pily for  me,  I  was  hungry  for  nothing  but  sleep.     I  saw 
a  barn,  entered  it,  found  a  score  of  generals  and  supe- 
rior officers,  all  men  of  great  merit ;  I  say  it  without  flat- 
tery,—  Junot,  Narbonne,  the  Emperor's  aide-de-camp, 
in  short,  the  bigwigs  of  the  army.     There  were  also  a 
few  private  soldiers  who  would  n't  have  given  up  their 
straw  litter  to  a  marshal  of  France.     Some  were  asleep 
standing,  leaning  against  the  wall  for  want  of  room ; 
others  lay  stretched  on  the  floor,  and  all  wrere  so  huddled 
together  to  keep  warm  that  I  looked  in  vain  for  a  cor- 
ner to  stow  myself.     There  was  I,  stepping,  I  might 
say,  over  a  floor  of  men  ;    some  groaned,  others  said 
nothing,  but  no  one  made  room  for  me  ;  they  would  n't 
have  moved  to  avoid  a  cannon-ball,  and  they  certainly 
were  not  obliged  to  follow  the  rules  of  a  decent  and 
puerile  civility.    I  saw,  at  last,  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
barn,  a  sort  of  interior  roof,  on  which  no  one  had  had 
the  wit,  or  perhaps  the  strength,  to  clamber.     I  got  up 
there  and  settled  nryself ;  tying  at  full  length,  I  could 
look  down  upon  the  men  below  me,  stretched  out  like 
calves.     That  melancholy  sight  almost  made  me  laugh. 
Some  were  gnawing  frozen  carrots  and  expressing  a  sort 
of  animal  pleasure  ;   the  generals,  wrapped  in  shabby 
shawls,  were  snoring  like   thunder.     A  burning  pine- 
knot  lighted  up  the  barn  ;  if  it  had  set  fire  to  the  place 
no  one  would  have  risen  to  put  it  out.     I  lay  on  my 
back,  and  before  going  to  sleep,  I  naturally  cast  my  eyes 


The  Country  Doctor.  115 

above  me ;  there  I  beheld  the  main  beam,  which  sup- 
ported the  joists  on  which  the  roof  rested,  swaying  gen- 
tly from  east  to  west — that  cursed  beam  was  actually 
dancing!  'Messieurs,'  I  said,  'there's  a  comrade  out- 
side who  wants  to  warm  himself  at  our  expense.'  The 
beam  was  on  the  point  of  falling.  '  Messieurs !  Mes- 
sieurs !  we  shall  be  killed  ;  look  at  the  beam !'  cried  I, 
loud  enough  to  rouse  my  bedfellows.  Monsieur,  they 
did  look  at  the  beam ;  but  those  who  had  been  asleep 
turned  over  and  slept  again,  and  those  who  were  eating 
never  so  much  as  answered  me.  Seeing  this,  I  was 
forced  to  leave  my  nook  at  the  risk  of  another  man's 
taking  it,  for  I  felt  bound  to  save  such  a  nest  of  heroes. 
I  ran  out,  turned  the  angle  of  the  barn,  and  spied  a  tall 
devil  of  a  Wurtemberger,  who  was  dragging  at  the  beam 
with  a  certain  enthusiasm.  '  Let  go  !  let  go  ! '  I  cried,  to 
make  him  understand  he  must  stop  that  work.  '  Get  out 
of  my  sight,  or  I'll  strike  you  dead,'  he  said  in  German. 
*  Get  out  of  my  sight,  indeed  ! '  I  answered  ;  '  that 's  not 
the  point ; '  and  I  took  his  own  gun,  wilich  he  had  laid 
on  the  ground,  and  shot  him  through  the  body  ;  then  I 
turned  in  and  went  to  sleep.     That's  the  whole  of  it." 

"  It  was  a  case  of  legitimate  defence,  directed  against 
one  man  for  the  safetj^  of  many ;  }Tou  can't  reproach 
vourself  with  that,"  said  Benassis. 

"The  others,"  resumed  Genestas,  "thought  it  was 
some  notion  of  mine  ;  but  notion  or  not,  many  of  those 
men  are  sleeping  to-day  in  opulent  mansions  without  a 
feeling  of  gratitude  in  their  hearts." 

"  Do  3tou  do  good  merely  for  the  sake  of  that  exorbi- 
tant interest  called  gratitude  ?  "  said  Benassis,  laugh- 
ing.    "  That's  usury." 


116  The  Country  Doctor* 

"  I  know  very  well,"  said  Genestas,  "  that  the  merit 
of  a  good  deed  evaporates  with  the  first  profit  we  derive 
from  it.  Even  to  relate  it  is  to  draw  a  dividend  of 
self-love,  which  is  worth  as  much  to  us  as  gratitude. 
Still,  if  a  modest  man  keeps  silence,  the  obliged  party 
will  never  speak  of  the  obligation.  According  to  your 
theory,  the  people  need  good  examples ;  and  if  every- 
body keeps  silence,  where  will  30U  find  them?  Another 
thing !  if  our  poor  pontonier,  who  saved  the  French 
arm}'  at  Beresina,  and  has  never  had  a  chance  to  tell 
his  deed  to  his  own  advantage,  had  lost  the  use  of  his 
hands,  would  his  sense  of  duty  fulfilled  give  him  his 
dail}T  bread?     Answer  me  that,  philosopher." 

"  Perhaps  there 's  no  hard  and  fast  law  in  moralit}f," 
said  Benassis ;  "but  such  an  idea  is  dangerous;  it 
allows  selfishness  to  interpret  cases  of  conscience  to  its 
own  advantage.  Listen  to  me,  captain  ;  is  n't  the  man 
who  strictly  obeys  the  principles  of  moralit}7  greater 
than  he  who  la3's  them  aside,  though  it  be  from  neces- 
sity? Our  pontonier,  utterl}'  helpless  and  dying  from 
hunger,  is  sublime  with  the  sublimit}'  of  Homer,  is  he 
not?  Human  life  is  doubtless  the  trial-scene  of  virtue 
as  it  is  of  genius,  —  both  demanded  by  a  better  world. 
Virtue  and  genius  seem  to  me  the  noblest  forms  of  the 
complete  and  unfailing  self-devotion  which  Jesus  Christ 
came  into  the  world  to  teach  to  man.  Genius  continues 
poor,  while  it  lights  that  world  ;  virtue  keeps  silence, 
as  she  sacrifices  herself  for  the  good  of  others." 

"  Agreed,  monsieur,"  said  Genestas  ;  "  but  the  earth 
is  inhabited  by  men  and  not  by  angels ;  we  are  none  of 
us  perfect." 

"  You  are  right,"  replied  Benassis.     "  For  myself,  I 


The  Country  Doctor.  117 

have  grossly  abused  the  faculty  of  wrong-doing.  But 
ought  we  not  to  strain  after  perfection?  Is  not  virtue 
a  noble  ideal  which  the  soul  should  contemplate  unceas- 
ingly as  its  celestial  model  ?  " 

"Amen,"  said  the  soldier.  "I  grant  }*our  position. 
A  virtuous  man  is  a  noble  sight ;  but  admit  also  that 
virtue  is  a  divinity  who  may,  in  all  honor,  allow  herself 
a  little  human  conversation." 

"  Ah,  monsieur,"  said  the  doctor,  smiling  with  a  sort 
of  bitter  melancholy,  "  yours  is  the  indulgence  of  one 
who  is  at  peace  with  himself.  I  am  stern  as  one  who 
sees  the  stains  upon  his  life  which  must  be  washed 
awa}\" 

The  riders  had  now  reached  a  cottage  standing  near 
the  brink  of  the  torrent.  The  doctor  entered  it ;  Ge- 
nestas  remained  at  the  threshold  of  the  door,  looking 
first  at  the  sparkling  landscape  before  him  and  then  to 
the  interior  of  the  cottage,  where  a  man  was  lying  in 
bed.  After  examining  the  patient,  Benassis  suddenly 
exclaimed :  — 

"  I  needn't  come  here  any  more,  my  good  woman, 
if  you  don't  do  what  I  order.  You  have  given  bread 
to  your  husband  —  do  you  want  to  kill  him?  What 
the  mischief!  if  30U  let  him  swallow  anything  but  his 
dog-grass  infusion  I  won't  set  m}r  foot  in  here  again., 
and  you  ma}T  go  and  get  a  physician  where  you  please." 

"  But,  ni}T  dear  Monsieur  Benassis,  nry  poor  old  man 
cried  with  hunger ;  when  a  man  has  n't  had  anything  in 
his  stomach  for  fifteen  dajTs  —  " 

"  Now,  then,  do  you  mean  to  listen  to  me  ?  If  you  let 
your  man  eat  a  single  mouthful  of  bread  until  I  allow  him 
nourishment,  you  '11  kill  him  —  do  you  hear  me?" 


118  The  Country  Doctor, 

"  1  '11  deny  him  everything,  my  dear  good  monsieur. 
Is  he  an}T  better  ?  "  she  asked,  following  the  doctor  to 
the  door. 

' '  No  ;  you  've  made  him  worse  by  giving  him  things 
to  eat.  Can't  I  induce  you,  thoughtless  creature  that 
you  are,  not  to  feed  people  who  must  live  on  a  diet? 
Peasants  are  incorrigible,"  he  added,  turning  to  Genes- 
tas  ;  "  if  a  patient  has  n't  eaten  airything  for  some  da3*s, 
they  think  he  '11  die,  and  they  stuff  him  with  soup  and 
wine.  Here  's  a  foolish  woman  who  has  nearly  killed 
her  husband." 

' '  Killed  my  husband  !  what,  with  a  poor  little  sop  of 
bread  and  wine  ?  " 

"  Exactly,  my  good  woman  ;  I  am  astonished  to  find 
him  alive  after  the  little  sop  you  gave  him.  Don't  for- 
get, now,  to  do  precisely  as  I  tell  }*ou." 

"Oh!  my  dear  Monsieur  Benassis,  I'd  rather  die 
myself  than  fail  this  time." 

"  Well,  we  shall  see.  To-morrow  afternoon  I  '11  come 
again  and  bleed  him." 

"  Let  us  follow  the  stream  on  foot,"  said  Benassis  to 
Genestas  ;  "  from  here  to  the  house  where  I  am  going 
there  is  no  bridle-path.  The  little  bo}'  of  these  people 
will  hold  our  horses.  Admire  our  lovely  valley,"  he 
said  presently  ;  "is  n't  it  like  an  English  garden?  We 
are  going  to  the  house  of  a  workman  who  is,  inconsola- 
ble for  the  loss  of  a  child.  His  eldest  son,  when  still 
a  lad,  wished  to  do  a  man's  work  ;  during  the  last  har- 
vest the  poor  boy  exceeded  his  strength,  and  he  died 
of  debility  at  the  end  of  the  autumn.  It  is  the  first 
time  I  have  met  with  the  paternal  sentiment  so  fully 
developed.      The   peasants   usually   regret  their  dead 


Tfie  Country  Doctor.  119 

as  the  loss  of  some  useful  thing  which  added  to  their 
means  of  support ;  and  grief  is  apportioned  to  the 
age.  The  child  when  adult  becomes  a  revenue  to 
the  father.  But  this  poor  man  loved  his  son.  '  Noth- 
ing can  console  me  for  this  loss,'  he  said  to  me  one  da}r 
when  I  found  him  in  a  field,  standing  stock  still,  lean- 
ing on  his  sc}'the,  forgetful  of  his  work,  and  holding  in 
his  hand  the  whetstone  which  he  had  taken  out  to  use, 
but  was  not  using.  He  has  never  again  spoken  of  his 
grief;  but  he  has  grown  taciturn  and  ailing.  To-day 
one  of  his  little  girls  is  ill." 

As  they  talked,  Benassis  and  his  guest  reached  a 
little  house  standing  on  a  paved  road  that  led  to  a  tan- 
mill.  There,  under  some  willows,  they  saw  a  man  about 
forty  years  of  age,  who  was  standing  still,  eating  a 
piece  of  bread,  rubbed  over  with  garlic. 

"  Well,  Gasnier,  is  the  little  girl  better?" 

"I  don't  know,  monsieur,"  he  answered,  with  a 
gloonry  air;  lt  you'll  see  for  yourself;  nry  wife  is  with 
her.  I  fear  death  has  set  foot  within  my  house  to  carry 
them  all  away  from  me,  in  spite  of  3-0111'  care." 

'-  Death  does  not  take  up  its  abode  in  an}*  house, 
Gasnier  ;  it  has  not  the  time.     Don't  lose  courage." 

Benassis  went  into  the  house,  followed  b}'  the  father. 
Half  an  hour  later  he  came  out,  accompanied  by  the 
mother,  to  whom  he  said :  — 

' '  Don't  be  the  least  uneasy  ;  do  exactly  what  I  have 
told  you  to  do ;  she  is  saved." 

"  If  all  this  bores  you,"  said  the  doctor  to  Genestas,  as 
they  mounted  their  horses,  "  I  will  put  3-011  into  the  road 
to  the  village,  and  3-ou  can  easil}*  find  3-our  wa3'  home." 


120  The  Country  Doctor. 

"  No  ;  on  my  word  of  honor,  it  does  not  bore  me." 

"But  you  will  everywhere  see  cottages  that  are  all 
alike.  Nothing  is  apparently  more  monotonous  than 
the  country." 

"  Let  us  go  on,"  said  the  soldier. 

For  several  hours  they  rode  about  the  country,  trav- 
ersing the  whole  breadth  of  the  district,  and  returning 
in  the  afternoon  to  the  part  nearest  the  village. 

"Now  I  must  go  down  there,"  said  the  doctor  to 
Genestas,  pointing  to  a  spot  surrounded  b}'  elms. 
"Those  trees  are  possibly  two  hundred  }Tears  old,"  he 
added.  "The  woman  for  whom  a  lad  came  to  fetch 
me  last  evening,  saying  she  had  turned  white,  lives 
there." 

"  Was  it  airything  dangerous?" 

"No,"  said  Benassis,  "merely  the  result  of  preg- 
nancy. She  is  in  her  last  month,  and  women  are 
subject  to  spasms  at  that  time.  But,  as  a  matter  of 
precaution,  I  must  see  that  nothing  alarming  super- 
venes ;  I  shall  deliver  her  myself.  Besides,  if  we  go 
there,  I  can  show  you  one  of  our  new  industries,  a 
brick-field.     The  road  is  good;  will  you  gallop?" 

"  Can  your  horse  keep  up  with  mine?"  said  Genes- 
tas, as  he  called  to  his  beast,  "On,  Neptune  !  " 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  e}Te  the  captain  was  a  hundred 
feet  in  advance,  disappearing  in  a  cloud  of  dust ;  but  in 
spite  of  his  horse's  speed  he  heard  the  doctor  at  his 
side.  Benassis  said  a  word  to  his  animal,  and  shot 
beyond  the  captain,  who  rejoined  him  only  at  the  brick- 
field, where  he  found  the  doctor  quietly  fastening  his 
horse  to  the  staple  of  a  log-fence. 

"The  devil  take  you!"  cried  Genestas,  looking  at 


The  Country  Doctor.  121 

the  doctor's  horse,  which  neither  sweated  nor  panted, 
1 '  what  kind  of  animal  is  that  ?  " 

"  Ah  !"  replied  Benassis,  laughing,  "  }'ou  took  him 
for  a  screw.  The  history  of  the  noble  beast  is  too  Ions: 
to  tell  you  now :  suffice  it  to  say,  Roustan  is  a  true 
barb  from  the  Atlas,  and  a  barb  is  the  equal  of  an 
Arab.  Mine  goes  up  the  mountain-side  at  full  gallop 
without  turning  a  hair,  and  trots  with  a  sure  foot  along 
the  precipices.  He  was  a  gift  wTeli-earned,  moreover. 
A  father  gave  him  to  me  in  return  for  the  life  of  his 
daughter,  one  of  the  richest  heiresses  in  Europe,  whom 
I  found  dying  on  the  road  to  Savoie.  If  I  were  to  tell 
3'ou  how  I  cured  that  young  woman,  }'ou  would  set  me 
down  for  a  quack.  Hey !  I  hear  the  bells  of  horses 
and  the  roll  of  a  cart  along  the  road ;  let 's  see  if  it  is 
Vigneau  himself:  if  it  is,  look  well  at  the  man." 

Presently  the  captain  saw  four  enormous  horses  har- 
nessed like  those  owned  by  the  well-to-do  farmers  of 
Brie.  The  woollen  ear-knots,  the  bells,  the  leathern 
straps,  all  had  a  comfortable  sort  of  spruceness.  In 
the  huge  waggon,  painted  blue,  stood  a  stout,  chubby- 
cheeked  lad,  browned  by  the  sun,  who  whistled  as  he 
held  his  whip  like  a  soldier  presenting  arms. 

"  No ;  it  is  only  the  waggoner,"  said  Benassis. 
"But  just  admire  how  the  industrial  well-being  of  the 
master  is  reflected  everywhere,  even  in  the  equipment 
of  his  cart  and  cartman.  Is  n't  that  an  indication  of  a 
commercial  intelligence  somewhat  rare  in  the  depths  of 
a  country  district?" 

"Yes,  indeed;  it  all  looks  well  set-up,"  replied  the 
soldier. 

"Just  so:  Vigneau  owns  two  such  teams;  besides 


122  The  Country  Doctor. 

which  he  has  a  little  cob  on  which  he  goes  about 
attending  to  his  affairs ;  for  his  business  has  now 
spread  pretty  far.  Four  years  ago  the  man  owned 
nothing,  —  I'm  mistaken,  he  owned  debts.  But  let  us 
go  in." 

"  My  lad,"  said  Benassis  to  the  cartman,  "  Madame 
Vigneau  is  of  course  at  home  ?  " 

"Monsieur,  she  is  in  the  garden.  I  saw  her  just 
now,  over  the  hedge.     I'll  tell  her  you  are  here." 

The  captain  followed  Benassis,  who  led  him  across  a 
wide  piece  of  ground  shut  in  by  hedges.  In  a  corner 
of  the  enclosure  was  a  mound  of  white  earth,  and  the 
potter's  clay  necessary  to  the  fabrication  of  bricks  and 
tiles.  On  another  side  were  piles  of  fagots  and  cut  wood 
to  supply  the  furnaces ;  farther  on,  in  an  open  space 
fenced  with  hurdles,  several  workmen  were  crushing 
white  stones,  or  manipulating  the  clay  for  bricks.  Fa- 
cing the  entrance,  and  under  the  great  elms,  the  manu- 
facture of  tiles,  both  round  and  square,  was  carried  on 
in  a  large  hall,  as  it  were,  of  shade  and  verdure,  closed 
in  by  the  roof  of  the  drying-house  ;  near  which  was  seen 
the  kiln  with  its  deep  jaws,  its  long  shovels,  its  black 
and  sunken  pathway.  Parallel  with  these  buildings 
stood  another,  of  somewhat  squalid  appearance,  which 
served  as  a  dwelling-house  for  the  family,  and  with 
which  the  coach-house,  stables,  cattle-sheds,  and  barns 
were  connected.  Pigs  and  poultry  roamed  about  the 
wide  enclosure ;  but  the  cleanliness  of  the  different 
establishments,  and  the  repair  in  which  all  wrere  kept, 
testified  to  the  vigilance  of  a  master. 

"The  predecessor  of  Vigneau,"  said  Benassis,  "was 
a  miserable  fellow,  an  idler  who  cared  for  nothing  but 


The  Country  Doctor.  128 

drink.  Formerly  a  journeyman,  he  knew  how  to  heat 
the  furnace  and  shape  his  bricks,  but  that  was  all ;  he 
had  neither  activity  nor  commercial  intelligence.  If  no 
one  came  to  buy  his  merchandise,  he  let  it  stay  where  it 
was  till  it  deteriorated  and  became  a  total  loss.  He  was 
alwa}'s  at  starvation  point.  His  wife,  whom  he  rendered 
half-idiotic  by  ill-usage,  grovelled  in  wretchedness.  The 
laziness,  the  miserable  stupidity  of  the  man  made  me  so 
unhappy,  and  the  sight  of  the  brickyard  was  so  disa- 
greeable to  me,  that  I  avoided  passing  this  wa}'.  Fort- 
unately the  man  had  an  attack  of  paralysis,  and  I  sent 
him  to  the  hospital  at  Grenoble.  The  owner  of  the 
property,  seeing  the  condition  it  was  in,  consented  to 
take  back  the  lease  without  discussion,  and  I  looked 
about  for  new  tenants  willing  to  share  in  the  improve- 
ments I  wished  to  introduce  throughout  all  the  village 
industries.  The  husband  of  a  lady's  maid  of  Madame 
Gravier,  a  poor  journeyman,  earning  very  poor  wages 
from  the  potter  for  whom  he  worked,  and  who  could 
scarcely  support  his  family,  listened  to  my  advice.  He 
had  the  courage  to  hire  the  brick-field  without  having  a 
penn}T  in  hand.  He  came  here,  taught  his  wife  and  the 
old  mother  of  his  wife,  and  his  own  mother,  how  to  shape 
the  bricks,  and  made  them  his  workmen.  Upon  my  word 
of  honor,  I  don't  see  how  they  ever  managed.  Proba- 
bly Vigneau  borrowed  wood  to  heat  his  furnace ;  he 
must  have  gone  at  night  and  fetched  his  claj-  by  the 
hodful,  and  worked  it  by  day  ;  in  fact,  he  secretly  dis- 
pla}~ed  a  really  boundless  energy ;  and  the  two  old 
mothers,  clothed  in  rags,  worked  like  negro-slaves. 
Vigneau  managed  to  bake  several  batches,  and  passed 
his  first  year  eating  bread  which  was  dearly  bought  by 


124  The  Country  Doctor. 

the  sweat  of  all  their  brows ;  but  he  held  firm.  His 
courage,  his  patience,  his  capabilities,  made  him  an 
object  of  interest  to  mairy  persons,  and  he  became 
known.  Indefatigable  in  his  business,  he  went  in  the 
morning  to  Grenoble  and  sold  bis  tiles  and  bricks,  get- 
ting home  towards  the  middle  of  the  day,  and  going  out 
again  at  night :  he  seemed  to  multiply  himself  at  his 
work. 

"Towards  the  end  of  the  first  3-ear,  he  hired  two 
young  lads  to  help  him.  Seeing  that,  I  lent  him  some 
money.  Well,  monsieur,  from  year  to  year  the  condi- 
tion of  the  family  has  improved.  By  the  second  year, 
the  old  women  shaped  no  more  bricks,  and  crushed  no 
more  stones ;  the}'  cultivated  little  gardens,  made  the 
soup,  mended  the  clothes,  spun  in  the  evening  and 
gathered  wood  in  the  daytime.  The  young  woman, 
who  knows  how  to  read  and  write,  keeps  the  accounts. 
Vigneau  bought  a  little  horse  on  which  he  went  about 
the  neighborhood  and  got  custom  ;  then  he  studied  the 
art  of  brick-making,  found  means  to  manufacture  the 
fine,  white,  square  brick,  and  sold  it  below  the  ordinary 
price.  When  he  set  up  his  first  cart  his  wife  became 
almost  elegant.  Everything  about  his  household  was 
in  keeping  with  his  circumstances ;  and  he  has  always 
maintained  order,  economy,  and  cleanliness,  —  the  gen- 
erative principles  of  his  prosperity.  After  a  time,  he 
empk>37ed  six  workmen,  and  paid  them  well ;  next,  a 
cartman,  putting  his  stables  on  a  good  footing  :  in  short, 
little  by  little,  by  taxing  his  ingenuit}T,  improving  his 
work,  and  extending  his  business,  he  has  arrived  at  ease 
and  a  competence.  Last  3'ear  he  bought  the  brickyard  ; 
next  year  he  will  rebuild  his  house.     At  the  present  time, 


The  Country  Doctor.  125 

the  whole  family  are  healthy  and  well-clothed.  The  wife, 
formerly  pale  and  thin,  sharing,  as  she  did,  the  cares  and 
anxieties  of  the  master,  is  once  more  plump  and  fresh 
and  pretty.  The  two  old  mothers  are  very  happy,  and 
attend  to  the  minor  details  of  the  housekeeping  and 
the  business.  Labor  has  brought  nione}* ;  and  money, 
by  giving  peace  of  mind,  has  brought  health,  plenty, 
and  happiness.  Really,  this  household  is,  to  me,  the  liv- 
ing epitome  of  my  district,  and  of  all  young  commercial 
States.  This  brickyard,  once  so  gloomy,  empty,  dirty, 
and  unproductive,  is  now  in  full  operation,  much  pat- 
ronized, animated,  rich,  and  amply  stocked.  Large  quan- 
tities of  wood  are  on  hand,  and  all  the  material  needed 
for  the  coming  season  ;  you  know,  of  course,  that  brick- 
making  can  be  carried  on  only  during  a  part  of  the  3'ear,  — 
from  June  to  September.  Is  n't  it  a  pleasure  to  see  such 
activity?  Vigneau  has  had  a  hand  in  every  building 
that  has  gone  up  in  the  village.  Always  wide-awake, 
always  coming  and  going  about  his  business,  always 
active,  he  is  called  by  his  townsmen  the  4  knight  of 
duty.'"1 

Benassis  had  scarcely  finished  speaking,  when  a  well- 
dressed  young  woman,  wearing  a  prett}r  cap,  white 
stockings,  a  silk  apron,  and  a  pink  dress,  —  an  attire 
which  recalled  her  former  position  of  lady's-maid,  — 
opened  the  iron  gate  which  led  from  the  garden,  and 
came  forward  as  quickly  as  her  condition  would  permit. 
The  two  friends  went  forward  to  meet  her.  Madame 
Vigneau  was  a  plump  and  rather  pretty  woman,  with 
a  sunburnt  skin,   whose  natural  complexion,  however, 

1  Le  de"vorant,  devoirant:  compagnon  da  devoir.  —  Diet.  Hist,  d' Ar- 
got, L.  Larchey.    Au  association  of  working-men.  — Littre. 


126  The  Country  Doctor. 

must  have  been  fair.  Though  her  forehead  showed  a 
few  lines,  the  traces  of  her  former  poverty,  her  coun- 
tenance was  happy  and  prepossessing. 

"Monsieur  Benassis,"  she  said,  in  a  pleading  tone 
of  voice,  as  she  saw  him  pause,  "won't  you  do  me  the 
honor  to  rest  awhile  in  my  house?" 

"  Willingly,"  he  said  ;  "  go  in,  captain." 

"You  gentlemen  must  have  found  it  very  warm. 
"Will  you  take  a  little  milk,  or  wine?  Monsieur  Be- 
nassis, do  taste  the  wine  my  husband  has  had  the  kind- 
ness to  get  for  my  confinement.  You  can  tell  me  if  it 
is  good." 

"You  have  a  good  man  for  a  husband." 

"Yes,  monsieur,"  she  said  calmly,  turning  round; 
"  my  lot  is  a  rich  one." 

"We  will  not  take  anything,  Madame  Vigneau ;  I 
only  came  to  see  that  nothing  serious  had  happened 
to  you." 

"Nothing,"  she  said;  "I  was,  as  you  see,  at  work 
in  the  garden,  for  the  sake  of  doing  something." 

At  this  moment,  the  two  mothers  came  in  to  see 
Benassis,  and  the  waggoner  stood  still  in  the  court- 
yard, in  a  position  that  enabled  him  to  gaze  at  the 
doctor. 

"  Come,  give  me  your  hand,"  said  Benassis  to  Ma- 
dame Vigneau. 

He  felt  the  young  woman's  pulse  with  scrupulous 
attention,  remaining  silent  and  thoughtful.  Meanwhile 
the  three  women  examined  the  captain  with  the  naive 
curiosity  that  country  people  feel  no  shame  in  exhibiting. 

"  You  can't  be  better,"  exclaimed  the  doctor  gayly. 

"  Will  she  be  confined  soon?  "  cried  the  two  mothers. 


The  Country  Doctor.  127 

"  This  week,  no  doubt.  Vigneau  is  out?"  he  asked, 
after  a  pause. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,"  replied  the  young  wife;  "he 
wants  to  attend  to  all  his  affairs  so  that  he  can  staj7  at 
home  when  I  am  ill,  the  dear  man." 

"Well,  my  children,  you'll  prosper.  Keep  on  mak- 
ing a  fortune,  and  making  a  family." 

Genestas  was  full  of  admiration  for  the  neatness  that 
reigned  inside  the  house,  though  it  was  almost  in  ruins 
without.     Seeing  his  surprise,  Benassis  said  to  him  :  — 

"There  is  no  one  like  Madame  Vigneau  for  making 
a  good  home  about  her.  I  wish  several  people  in  the 
village  would  come  here  and  take  a  lesson." 

The  wife  turned  her  head  away,  blushing ;  but  the 
two  mothers  let  their  faces  beam  with  the  pleasure  they 
felt  at  the  doctor's  praises.  All  three  accompanied 
him  to  the  place  where  the  horses  were  standing. 

"Well,"  said  Benassis,  addressing  the  two  old  wo- 
men, "you  are  very  happy,  are  not  you?  Don't  }tou 
long  to  be  grandmothers  ?  " 

"Ah!  don't  speak  of  it,"  said  the  }'oung  woman; 
"  they  provoke  me  so  !  My  two  mothers  want  a  boy, 
my  husband  wishes  for  a  little  girl.  I  think  it  will  be 
very  difficult  to  please  them  all." 

"But  you  —  what  do  you  want?"  asked  Benassis, 
laughing. 

"Ah,  monsieur,  I  want  a  child." 

"  See,  she  is  already  a  mother,"  said  the  doctor  to 
the  soldier,  as  he  took  his  horse  by  the  bridle. 

"  Adieu,  Monsieur  Benassis,"  said  the  young  woman, 
"  m}-  husband  will  be  very  sorry  he  was  away  when  he 
hears  that  you  have  been  here." 


128  The  Country  Doctor. 

"  He  won't  forget  to  send  my  thousand  tiles  to  the 
Granges-aux-Belles  ?  " 

"  You  know  he  would  put  aside  every  other  order 
for  yours.  His  greatest  regret  is  that  he  has  to  let 
you  pay  him  ;  but  I  tell  him  that  your  money  brings 
happiness,  —  and  so  it  does." 

"Good-by,"  said  Benassis. 

The  three  women,  the  waggoner,  and  two  workmen 
who  came  out  of  the  brickyard,  remained  in  a  group 
near  the  log-fence,  so  as  to  enjo}*  his  presence  to  the 
last  moment ;  as  we  all  are  apt  to  do  with  our  cherished 
friends.  The  inspirations  of  the  heart  are  alike  every- 
where ;  the  same  sweet  customs  of  friendship  are  found 
in  ever}'  land. 

Looking  at  the  position  of  the  sun,  Benassis  said  to 
his  companion  :  "  We  have  still  two  hours  of  daylight, 
and  if  you  are  not  very  hungry  we  will  go  and  see  a 
charming  young  creature,  to  whom  I  usually  give  the 
time  that  is  left  between  the  last  visit  I  have  to  pay  and 
my  dinner  hour.  They  call  her,  in  the  district,  my 
'  good  friend  ; '  but  you  are  not  to  think  that  this  title, 
—  used  in  these  parts  to  mean  a  future  wife  —  covers 
or  implies  the  slightest  scandal.  Although  my  care  of 
this  poor  girl  has  made  her  the  object  of  a  quite  con- 
ceivable jealousy,  yet  the  opinion  held  by  all  as  to  my 
character  prevents  any  evil  suppositions.  If  none  can 
understand  the  whim  to  which  I  seem  to  have  yielded 
in  giving  the  Fosseuse  a  small  income,  so  that  she  may 
live  without  being  obliged  to  work,  they  nevertheless, 
one  and  all,  believe  in  her  virtue  ;  and  every  one  knows 
that  if  my  affection  for  her  passed  the  limits  of  friendly 
interest,  I  should  not   hesitate   to  marry  her.     But," 


TJie  Country  Doctor.  129 

added  the  doctor,  forcing  a  smile,  "  neither  in  this  dis- 
trict nor  elsewhere,  does  there  exist  a  wife  for  ine.  A 
very  warm-hearted  man  feels  an  unconquerable  need  to 
attach  himself  to  one  thing,  or  to  one  being,  among  the 
man}7  things  and  beings  that  surround  him,  —  above  all 
when,  to  him,  life  is  a  desert.  For  that  reason,  mon- 
sieur, we  should  always  judge  favorably  of  a  man  who 
loves  his  horse  or  his  dog.  Among  the  suffering  flock 
which  fate  has  confided  to  my  care,  this  poor  sick  girl 
is  to  me  what  the  sun  is  to  my  own  land,  my  native 
Languedoc  ;  or  the  pet  lamb  the  shepherd  maidens  deck 
with  faded  ribbons,  to  whom  the}T  talk  as  the}7  let  them 
browse  along  the  wheat-fields,  and  whose  lagging  step 
even  the  sheep-dog  never  hastens." 

While  saying  these  words,  Benassis  remained  stand- 
ing, his  hand  on  his  horse's  mane,  about  to  mount  and 
yet  not  mounting,  as  if  the  feelings  that  moved  him 
were  incompatible  with  an}7  violent  action. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  come  and  see  her.  To  take  30U 
there  proves,  does  it  not?  that  I  treat  her  like  a  sister." 

When  they  had  both  mounted,  Genestas  said  to  the 
doctor:  "  Am  I  indiscreet  in  asking  you  for  some  in- 
formation about  your  Fosseuse?  Among  the  many 
lives  you  have  made  known  to  me,  hers  cannot  be  the 
least  interesting." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Benassis,  stopping  his  horse,  "  per- 
haps 3011  cannot  share  the  interest  with  which  the  Fos- 
seuse inspires  me.  Her  destiny  resembles  mine  ;  we 
have  both  missed  our  vocation  ;  the  feelings  I  have  for 
her,  the  emotions  I  pass  through  when  I  see  her,  are 
caused  b}7  the  similarity  of  our  fate.  When  you  entered 
the  career  of  arms  }*ou  either  followed  your  inclinations 

y 


130  The  Country  Doctor. 

or  you  came  to  like  your  profession ;  otherwise  3*011 
would  not  have  stayed  until  your  present  age  under 
the  galling  3'oke  of  military  discipline ;  }*ou  can  there- 
fore comprehend  neither  the  sufferings  of  a  soul  whose 
desires  are  ever  reviving  and  forever  disappointed,  nor 
the  ceaseless  grief  of  a  being  forced  to  live  outside 
the  pale  of  his  own  sphere.  Such  sufferings  remain  a 
secret  between  the  human  soul  and  God,  who  sends  the 
affliction  ;  for  they  alone  know  the  force  of  the  emotions 
caused  by  the  adverse  circumstances  of  life.  Yet  30U 
yourself,  a  witness  hardened  to  the  sight  of  misfortunes 
produced  b}'  a  long  war,  have  you  never  felt  a  sadness 
in  your  heart  as  }Tou  looked  at  a  tree  whose  leaves  were 
yellow  in  the  spring-time,  —  a  tree  that  languished  and 
died  because  it  stood  on  ground  where  the  conditions 
necessary  to  its  development  were  lacking?  When  I 
was  a  lad  of  twent}*,  the  passive  melancholy  of  a  stunted 
plant  was  grievous  to  me ;  and  now  I  turn  my  head 
from  the  sight.  My  youthful  distress  was  a  vague  pre- 
sentiment of  the  sorrows  of  my  manhood  ;  a  sort  of 
sympathy  between  m}T  present  and  the  future  I  instinct- 
ively perceived  in  that  vegetable  life,  withering  untimely 
before  the  appointed  end  of  things  and  men." 

"  I  thought,  when  I  saw  how  good  you  are,  that  3*011 
had  suffered." 

"  You  see,  monsieur,"  resumed  the  doctor,  making 
no  reply  to  Genestas's  words,  "  that  to  speak  of  the 
Fosseuse  is  to  speak  of  myself.  The  Fosseuse  is  a  plant 
exiled  from  its  native  soil,  —  a  human  plant,  consumed 
03*  sad  or  searching  thoughts  which  live  and  multiply  on 
one  another.  The  poor  girl  is  always  ailing.  In  her, 
the  spirit  kills  the  body.     Could  I  look  coldly  upon  the 


The  Country  Doctor.  131 

feeble  creature,  a  prey  to  the  greatest  and  the  least- 
comprehended  anguish  that  there  is  in  this  selfish  world, 
when  I,  a  man,  inured  to  suffering,  am  tempted  night 
after  night  to  refuse  to  bear  the  burden  of  such  sorrow 
any  longer?  Perhaps  I  should  refuse,  were  it  not  for  a 
thought  which  soothes  my  anguish  and  fills  my  heart 
with  sweet  illusions.  Even  if  all  were  not  the  children 
of  one  God,  still,  the  Fosseuse  would  be  my  sister  in 
suffering." 

Benassis  pressed  the  flanks  of  his  horse  and  rode 
rapidly  forward,  as  if  he  feared  to  continue  a  conversa- 
tion thus  begun. 

"Monsieur,"  he  resumed,  when  the  horses  were  again 
trotting  together,  "  Nature  has,  so  to  speak,  created  this 
poor  girl  for  suffering,  just  as  she  creates  other  women 
for  pleasure.  In  observing  such  predestinations  it  is 
impossible  not  to  believe  in  another  life.  Everything 
reacts  upon  the  Fosseuse :  if  the  weather  is  gray  and 
sombre,  she  is  sad  and  weeps  with  the  skies,  —  that  is 
her  own  expression.  She  sings  with  the  birds,  grows 
calm  and  serene  with  the  blue  heavens  ;  she  is  even 
beautiful  on  a  lovely  day.  A  delicate  perfume  is  to  her 
an  almost  inexhaustible  pleasure.  I  have  seen  her,  the 
livelong  da}',  enjoying  the  fragrance  of  mignonette  after 
one  of  those  rainy  mornings  which  draw  out  the  soul 
of  flowers  and  give  to  the  da}'  I  know  not  what  of  fresh- 
ness and  brilliancy' ;  on  such  da}Ts  she  expands  with  na- 
ture and  the  blossoming  plants.  If  the  atmosphere  is 
heavy  and  electrical,  she  is  nervously  excited  and  can- 
not be  calmed  ;  she  goes  to  bed,  and  complains  of  many 
different  ills  without  knowing  what  is  the  matter  with 
her.     If  I  question  her,  she  says  her  bones  are  soften- 


132  The  Country  Doctor. 

ing,  or  that  her  flesh  is  turning  to  water.  During  the 
period  of  such  inanimation,  she  is  conscious  of  life  only 
through  suffering.  Her  heart  is  outside  of  her,  —  to  give 
3-011  another  of  her  sa3rings.  Sometimes  I  find  the  poor 
girl  weeping  at  the  scene  our  mountains  give  at  sunset, 
when  innumerable  magnificent  clouds  cluster  about  their 
golden  peaks.  'Why  do  you  weep,  my  child?'  I  say 
to  her.  '  I  do  not  know,'  she  answers  ;  '  I  am  like  one 
bewildered  b}T  looking  up  there.  I  don't  know  where  I 
am,  I  see  so  far.'  '  What  do  you  see?  '  '  Monsieur.  I 
cannot  tell  it  to  3rou.'  There  is  no  use  in  questioning 
her  further,  3-011  cannot  get  a  word  from  her ;  she  will 
give  3011  glances  full  of  thoughts,  or  she  will  remain, 
with  moist  e3'es,  mute  and  visibly  collecting  herself  in 
meditation.  Her  absorption  of  mind  is  so  great  that  it 
communicates  itself  to  others  ;  at  least  it  acts  upon  me 
like  a  cloud  overcharged  with  electric^.  I  pressed  her 
one  da3'  with  questions.  With  all  my  will  I  desired  to 
talk  with  her,  and  I  said  a  few  sharp  words ;  well,  she 
burst  into  tears.  At  other  times  she  is  gay,  attractive, 
smiling,  busy,  intelligent,  and  sparkling  ;  she  converses 
with  pleasure,  and  expresses  new  and  original  ideas. 
She  is,  however,  incapable  of  settling  to  an3T  regular 
work ;  if  she  goes  to  the  fields,  she  spends  hours  in 
watching  a  flower,  in  looking  at  the  colors  of  the  water, 
or  studying  the  picturesque  marvels  found  in  the  depths 
of  still,  clear  pools,  —  the  bright  mosaic  of  pebbles, 
earth,  and  sand,  of  water-plants  and  mosses,  and  those 
brown  sediments  whose  tones  offer  to  the  eye  such  curi- 
ous contrasts.  When  I  first  came  to  this  place,  the 
poor  girl  was  wasting  with  hunger ;  ashamed  to  eat  the 
bread  of  others,  she  would  not  ask  for  charit3'  until  con- 


The  Country  Doctor.  133 

strained  to  do  so  by  the  extremity  of  suffering.  Some- 
times shame  gave  her  energ}',  and  for  a  few  days  she 
worked  in  the  fields  ;  but  her  strength  was  soon  ex- 
hausted, and  illness  obliged  her  to  gi\e  up  a  labor  she  ■ 
had  scarcely  begun.  No  sooner  was  she  better,  than 
she  went  to  a  neighboring  farm  and  asked  for  the  care 
of  the  cattle  ;  but  after  fulfilling  the  duty  for  a  while 
with  intelligence,  she  suddenly  left  it  and  went  away 5 
without  giving  any  reason.  The  regular  daily  labor 
was  doubtless  too  heavy  a  yoke  for  one  whose  whole 
nature  is  independent  and  capricious.  Then  she  took 
to  searching  for  truffles  and  mushrooms,  which  she  sold 
in  Grenoble.  In  town,  tempted  by  gewgaws,  she  forgot 
her  poverty  as  soon  as  she  had  a  few  coppers  in  her 
pocket,  and  bought  ribbons  and  trumpery,  without 
thinking  of  her  bread  on  the  morrow.  Then,  if  some 
village  girl  coveted  her  brass  cross,  or  the  Jeannette 
heart  with  its  velvet  ribbon,  she  gave  them  readily, 
happy  in  bestowing  pleasure  ;  for  she  lives  03-  her  heart. 
Thus,  by  turns  beloved,  pitied,  and  despised,  the  poor 
girl  suffered  from  everything ;  from  her  idleness,  from 
her  beauty,  from  her  coquetiy,  —  for  she  is  dainty,  co- 
quettish, and  inquisitive  ;  in  short,  she  is  a  woman,  and 
3'ields  to  her  tastes  and  impressions  with  the  simplicity 
of  a  child.  Tell  her  of  some  noble  action,  and  she 
quivers  and  blushes,  her  bosom  heaves,  she  weeps  with 
joy ;  speak  to  her  of  thieves  and  miscreants,  and  she  is 
pale  with  terror.  Nowhere  can  3011  find  a  nature  more 
true,  a  heart  more  frank,  an  honest3T  more  delicate  than 
hers.  Give  her  a  hundred  pieces  of  gold  to  take  care 
of,  and  she  will  buiy  them  in  a  corner  and  continue  to 
beg  her  bread." 


134  The  Country  Doctor, 

The  doctor's  voice  changed  as  he  said  these  words. 

"  I  wished  to  prove  her,  monsieur,"  he  resumed, 
"  and  I  repented  it,  —  a  test  is  a  form  of  espial,  or  at 
least  a  species  of  distrust." 

Here  the  doctor  stopped,  as  if  making  some  secret 
reflection,  and  he  did  not,  therefore,  observe  the  confu- 
sion into  which  these  words  had  thrown  his  companion  ; 
who  to  conceal  his  embarrassment  stooped  to  disentan- 
gle the  reins  of  his  horse.    Benassis  soon  went  on,  — 

"I  should  like  to  see  my  Fosseuse  married;  and 
would  willingly  give  one  of  my  farms  to  any  worthy 
fellow  who  would  make  her  happy ;  and  she  could  be 
made  happy.  Yes,  the  poor  girl  would  love  her  children 
to  madness,  and  all  her  superabundant  feelings  would 
pour  themselves  into  the  one  sentiment  which  to  a 
woman  includes  them  all,  —  motherhood.  But  no  man 
has  yet  pleased  her.  She  has,  however,  a  dangerous 
sensibility.  She  knows  it,  and  admitted  to  me  her  ner- 
vous susceptibility  when  she  saw  that  I  perceived  it 
She  belongs  to  the  small  number  of  women  in  w7hom  the 
slightest  contact  produces  a  perilous  tremor ;  for  that 
reason,  we  ought  to  admire  her  discretion  and  her 
womanly  pride.  She  is  as  wild  as  a  nightingale.  Ah  ! 
what  a  rich  nature,  monsieur!  she  was  born  to  be 
opulent  and  loved ;  she  would  have  been  so  gracious 
and  constant !  At  the  age  of  twenty-two  she  is  perish- 
ing, —  a  victim  to  the  too-responsive  fibres  of  an  organ- 
ization which  is  over-strong  or  else  too  delicate.  A 
love  betrayed  would  drive  her  mad,  m}T  poor  Fosseuse  ! 
After  stud}'ing  her  temperament,  and  recognizing  the 
genuine  nature  of  her  protracted  nervous  seizures,  and 
her  electric  aspirations ;  after  finding  her  in  positive 


Tlie  Country  Doctor.  135 

harmony  with  the  fluctuations  of  the  atmosphere  and 
with  the  changes  of  the  moon  (a  fact  I  have  carefully 
verified),  —  I  have  taken  charge  of  her,  monsieur,  as  of 
a  being  apart  from  others,  whose  unhealthy  existence 
could  be  understood  by  none  but  me.  She  is,  as  I  have 
said  to  you,  the  lamb  with  ribbons.  But  you  will  now 
see  her  ;  this  is  her  little  house." 

By  this  time  they  had  gone  a  third  of  the  way  up  the 
mountain  along  a  terraced  road  bordered  with  shrubs, 
which  they  climbed  at  a  foot-pace.  At  an  angle  where 
the  road  turns  back  upon  itself,  Genestas  saw  the  house. 
The  little  dwelling  stands  on  one  of  the  projecting 
cliffs  of  the  mountain.  A  pretty  sloping  lawn  of  about 
three  acres,  planted  with  trees,  across  which  a  brook 
was  flowing  in  cascades,  was  surrounded  by  a  low 
wall,  high  enough  to  serve  as  enclosure  but  not  so  high 
as  to  shut  out  the  view.  The  house,  built  of  brick,  with 
a  flat  roof  which  projected  some  feet,  made  a  charming 
point  in  the  landscape.  It  was  of  two  stories,  with  the 
door  and  window-shutters  painted  green.  Facing  south, 
it  was  neither  so  wide  nor  so  deep  as  to  require  any 
other  openings  than  those  on  its  front,  whose  rustic 
charm  was  simpry  that  of  excessive  neatness.  Follow- 
ing a  German  fashion,  the  projection  of  the  eaves  was 
lined  with  planks  painted  white.  A  few  acacias  in 
flower  and  other  sweet-smelling  trees,  wild  roses,  climb- 
ing shrubs,  a  large  walnut-tree  which  the  axe  had 
spared,  and  two  or  three  weeping-willows  planted  near 
the  brook,  grew  about  the  house.  Behind  it  was  a  solid 
group  of  beeches  and  fir-trees,  making  a  dark  back- 
ground, from  which  the  pretty  building  sharply  detached 
itself.     At  this  time  of  day  the  air  was  fragrant  with 


136  The  Country  Doctor. 

the  odors  of  the  mountain  and  the  garden.  The  sk}*, 
pure  and  tranquil,  was  cloudy  near  the  horizon.  In  the 
distance,  the  peaks  were  beginning  to  catch  the  rosy 
tints  which  the  setting  sun  so  often  gives  to  them.  At 
this  height,  the  whole  valley  can  be  seen  from  Grenoble 
to  the  circular  rocky  basin  in  whose  depths  lies  the 
little  lake  which  Genestas  had  crossed  the  evening  be- 
fore. Above  the  house,  and  at  some  distance  from  it, 
is  a  line  of  poplars  showing  the  direction  of  the  road 
leading  from  the  valle}'  to  the  highway  of  Grenoble. 
The  village,  now  obliquely  crossed  by  the  ra}Ts  of  the 
declining  sun,  sparkled  like  a  diamond,  and  reflected  in 
every  pane  of  glass  a  ruby  light  which  seemed  to  ripple 
over  them.  At  the  sight,  Genestas  stopped  his  horse, 
and  pointed  to  the  village  manufactories,  the  new  town, 
and  the  house  of  the  Fosseuse. 

' '  Excepting  always  the  victory  of  Wagram  and  Na- 
poleon's re-entrance  to  the  Tuileries  in  1815,"  he  said, 
sighing,  "  this  gives  me  the  highest  emotions  I  have 
ever  known.  I  owe  this  pleasure  to  you,  monsieur  ;  for 
you  have  taught  me  to  know  the  beauties  a  man  may 
find  in  the  country." 

"Yes,"  said  the  doctor,  smiling,  "  it  is  better  to  build 
cities  than  to  take  them." 

' '  Oh,  monsieur !  the  taking  of  Moscow,  and  the  sur- 
render of  Mantua  !  Don't  you  know  what  that  was  ? 
Is  it  not  the  glory  of  evety  one  of  us  ?  If  it  were  not  for 
England,  Frenchmen  would  have  understood  each  other, 
and  he  would  not  have  fallen  —  our  Emperor!  I  may 
declare  to  you  now  that  I  love  him ;  he  is  dead,  and," 
added  the  soldier,  looking  about  him,  —  "  there  are  no 
spies  here,  —  what  a  sovereign  he   was  !     He  divined 


The  Country  Doctor.  137 

the  souls  of  men.  He  would  have  put  you  in  his  coun- 
cil of  state,  for  he  was  an  administrator  —  and  a  great 
administrator,  down  to  knowing  how  many  cartridges 
were  left  in  the  box  after  a  battle.  Poor  man !  while 
3'ou  were  telling  me  of  your  Fosseuse,  I  thought  of  him, 
lying  dead  at  Saint  Helena,  —  he  !  Hein  !  was  that  a 
climate  and  a  dwelling  fit  for  a  man  accustomed  to  live 
with  his  feet  in  the  stirrups  and  his  seat  on  a  throne  ? 
They  say  he  gardened  there  !  Damn  it,  he  was  n't  born 
to  plant  cabbages  !  But  now  we  have  to  serve  the 
Bourbons,  and  serve  them  loyally,  too  ;  for  after  all, 
as  3tou  said  yesterday,  France  is  France." 

Uttering  the  last  words,  Genestas  dismounted  and 
mechanically  imitated  Benassis,  who  fastened  the  bridle 
of  his  horse  to  a  tree. 

"  Is  it  possible  she  is  absent?  "  said  the  doctor,  not 
seeing  the  Fosseuse  on  the  threshold  of  the  door. 

They  entered,  and  found  no  one  on  the  ground-floor. 

"  She  must  have  heard  the  steps  of  the  horses,"  said 
Benassis,  smiling,  "  and  she  has  run  up  to  put  on  a 
ribbon,  a  belt,  or  some  such  frippery." 

He  left  Genestas  by  himself,  and  went  upstairs  to 
find  her. 

The  captain  looked  about  the  room.  The  walls  were 
covered  with  gray  paper  scattered  over  with  roses  ;  the 
floor  had  a  straw  matting,  laid  like  a  carpet.  The 
chairs  and  tables  were  of  wood  with  the  bark  still  on. 
Flower-stands,  made  of  hoops  wound  with  osier ,  and 
filled  with  plants  and  mosses,  ornamented  the  room, 
whose  windows  were  draped  with  curtains  of  white 
cambric  fringed  with  red.     On  the  mantel-shelf  was  a 


138  The  Country  Doctor. 

mirror,  and  a  plain  porcelain  vase  between  two  lamps ; 
before  an  armchair  stood  a  footstool  of  fir-bark ;  near 
it  a  table  covered  with  linen  already  cut  out,  parts  of 
shirts,  a  few  gussets,  and  all  the  apparatus  of  a  sewing- 
woman, —  basket,  scissors,  thread,  and  needles.  All 
was  clean  and  fresh,  like  a  shell  lately  tossed  by  the  sea 
upon  a  beach.  On  the  other  side  of  the  passage,  at 
the  end  of  which  was  the  staircase,  Genestas  found  the 
kitchen  :  the  upper  floor,  like  the  ground-floor,  must 
therefore  have  had  but  two  rooms. 

"Don't  be  afraid,"  said  Benassis  to  the  Fosseuse ; 
"  come  down." 

As  he  heard  these  words,  Genestas  hastil}'  retreated 
to  the  salon.  A  young  girl,  slight  and  well-made,  in  a 
dress  of  pink  cambric  with  tiny  stripes,  belted  round  the 
waist,  now  showed  herself,  blushing  with  modest}'  and 
slryness.  Her  face  was  not  remarkable,  except  for  a 
certain  flatness  of  the  features,  —  making  it  resemble  the 
Cossack  and  Russian  faces  which  the  disasters  of  1814 
have,  unhappily,  made  popularly  known  in  France. 
The  Fosseuse  had,  like  those  northern  peoples,  a  nose 
turned  upward  and  flattened  at  the  end.  Her  mouth 
was  wide,  her  chin  small,  her  hands  and  arms  red,  her 
feet  large  and  strong,  like  those  of  a  peasant.  Though 
constantly  exposed  to  the  harsh  and  drying  winds  and 
to  the  action  of  the  sun  and  air,  her  complexion  was 
pale,  like  that  of  a  wilted  plant.  But  this  paleness 
made  the  face  interesting  at  the  first  glance ;  and  she 
had  so  sweet  an  expression  in  her  blue  eyes,  such  grace 
iu  her  movements,  and  in  her  voice  so  much  soul,  that 
notwithstanding  the  discrepancy  between  her  features 
and  the  qualities  Benassis  had  attributed  to  her,  the 


The  Country  Doctor.  139 

captain  recognized  the  ailing  and  capricious  creature 
the  doctor  had  pictured,  a  prey  to  the  sufferings  of  a 
nature  balked  of  its  development. 

After  quickly  mending  the  fire,  made  of  peat  and 
dried  twigs,  the  Fosseuse  sat  down  in  the  arm-chair, 
took  the  unfinished  shirt  and  remained,  half-bashful, 
under  the  e}'es  of  the  officer,  not  daring  to  look  up,  — 
calm  apparentl}*,  though  the  quick  heaving  of  her 
bosom,  the  beauty  of  which  Genestas  noticed,  disclosed 
her  fear. 

"Well,  m}-  poor  child,  how  are  you  getting  on  with 
your  work?"  asked  Benassis,  picking  up  some  pieces  of 
the  linen  that  was  destined  to  become  a  shirt. 

The  Fosseuse  looked  at  the  doctor  with  a  timid,  sup- 
plicating air. 

"Don't  scold  me,  monsieur,"  she  said;  "I've  done 
nothing  to-da}T,  though  the  shirts  were  ordered  by  you 
for  persons  who  are  greatly  in  need  of  them.  But  the 
weather  was  so  fine  I  went  to  walk.  I've  gathered 
you  a  quantity  of  mushrooms  and  some  white  truffles, 
which  I  carried  to  Jacquotte.  She  was  very  glad  to  get 
them,  for  it  seems  you  have  people  to  dinner.  I  was 
so  glad  that  I  guessed  right ;  something  told  me  to  go 
and  gather  them."     And  she  began  to  sew. 

"  You  have  a  very  pretty  house,  mademoiselle,"  said 
Genestas. 

"It  is  not  mine,  monsieur,"  she  answered,  looking 
at  the  stranger  with  e}'es  that  seemed  to  blush,  "it 
belongs  to  Monsieur  Benassis."  And  she  softly  turned 
her  e3'es  upon  the  doctor. 

"  You  know  very  well,  my  child,"  he  said,  taking  her 
hand,  "  that  no  one  will  ever  turn  vou  out  of  it." 


140  The  Country  Doctor. 

The  Fosseuse  rose  with  a  hasty  movement  and  left 
the  room. 

"  Well?"  said  the  doctor  to  the  soldier,  "  what  do 
you  think  of  her  ?  " 

"  I  must  say,"  answered  Genestas,  "  that  she  strangely 
interests  me.  You  have  indeed  made  her  a  pretty 
nest." 

"  Bah  !  a  fifteen  or  twenty  sous  paper  —  well  chosen, 
I  admit ;  that 's  all.  The  furniture  does  not  amount 
to  much ;  it  was  all  made  by  my  basket-maker,  who 
wished  to  show  his  gratitude.  The  Fosseuse  herself 
made  the  curtains  with  a  few  yards  of  calico.  The 
house  and  its  simple  fittings  strike  3'ou  as  prett}^  be- 
cause you  see  them  on  a  mountain  slope,  in  a  lonely 
region  where  you  did  not  expect  to  find  an}'  fitness  of 
things.  The  secret  of  this  charm  is  in  the  sort  of  har-. 
mony  which  reigns  between  the  house  and  Nature 
which  has  brought  together  the  brooks  and  a  few  well- 
grouped  trees,  and  has  carpeted  the  little  lawn  with 
her  finest  grasses,  her  fragrant  strawberry-plants,  and 
the  pretty  violets  —  Well,  what  was  the  matter  ?  "  he 
added,  addressing  the  Fosseuse,  who  now  returned. 

"  Nothing,  nothing,"  she  answered;  "  I  thought  one 
of  my  hens  was  missing." 

She  was  not  telling  the  truth,  but  the  doctor  alone 
noticed  it.     He  whispered  in  her  ear,  — 

"  You  have  been  crying?  " 

"  Why  do  you  say  those  things  to  me  before  other 
people?"  she  answered. 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  Genestas,  "you  make  a  great 
mistake  by  living  here  alone  ;  in  such  a  pretty  cage  as 
this  you  ought  to  have  a  husband." 


The  Country  Doctor.  141 

■'  That  is  true,"  she  said,  "  but  how  can  it  be  helped? 
I  am  poor,  and  I  am  difficult  to  please.  I  don't  feel 
inclined  to  carry  a  man's  dinner  to  the  fields  ;  nor  to 
drag  a  hand-cart ;  nor  to  feel  the  poverty  of  those  I 
might  love,  and  be  unable  to  remove  it ;  nor  yet  to  hold 
children  in  my  arms  all  day,  and  mend  a  man's  ragged 
clothing.  Monsieur  le  cure  tells  me  such  thoughts  are 
not  Christian.  I  know  that;  but  what's  to  be  done? 
Some  days  I  would  rather  eat  dry  bread  than  have  to 
prepare  my  dinner.  Would  you  have  me  burden  a  man 
with  my  defects?  He  might  wear  himself  out  toying  to 
satisf}'  my  caprices  ;  and  that  would  n't  be  just.  Bah  ! 
fate  has  flung  me  a  hard  lot,  and  I  must  carr}'  it  alone." 

"  Besides,  she  was  born  a  do-nothing,  nry  poor  Fos- 
seuse,"  said  Benassis,  "  and  we  must  take  her  as  she  is. 
But  what  she  tells  you  only  means  she  has  never  loved 
any  one  yet,"  he  added,  laughing. 

Then  he  rose,  and  went  out  a  moment  on  the  lawn. 

"  You  must  love  Monsieur  Benassis  very  much," 
Genestas  said  to  the  j'oung  girl. 

"  Oh,  yes,  monsieur!  and  there  are  many  people  in 
the  district,  like  nryself,  who  would  gladly  cut  them- 
selves in  pieces  for  him.  But  he  who  cures  others  has 
something  within  himself  that  nothing  can  cu^e.  You 
are  his  friend ;  perhaps  you  know  what  it  is  ?  Who 
could  have  wounded  a  man  like  him  ?  —  the  true  image 
of  the  good  God  upon  earth !  I  know  many  here  who 
believe  their  wheat  grows  better  if  he  has  passed  by  the 
fields." 

"  And  you,  do  you  believe  it?  " 

"  I,  monsieur,  when  I  have  seen  him  —  "  She  seemed 
to  hesitate,  then  she  added,  "I  am  happ3T  for  t^p  rest 


142  The  Country  Doctor, 

of  the  day."  She  bowed  her  head,  and  began  to  ply 
her  needle  with  singular  deftness. 

"  Well,  has  the  captain  been  telling  you  tales  of 
Napoleon?"  asked  the  doctor,  re-entering. 

--  Has  monsieur  ever  seen  the  Emperor?"  cried  the 
Fosseuse,  gazing  into  the  face  of  the  officer  with  pas- 
sionate curiosity. 

4 '  Bless  me!  yes,"  said  Genestas,  "a  thousand 
times  !  " 

' '  Ah !  I  wish  I  could  know  something  about  the 
army ! " 

"  Perhaps  to-morrow  we  will  come  and  take  our 
morning  coffee  with  you,  and  then  }*ou  shall  hear  '  some- 
thing about  the  army,'  m}r  child,"  said  Benassis,  taking 
her  by  the  neck  and  kissing  her  brow.  "  She  is  my 
daughter,"  he  added,  turning  to  Genestas.  "  If  I  have 
not  kissed  her  on  the  forehead  I  miss  something  from 
my  daily  life." 

The  Fosseuse  pressed  his  hand,  and  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "  Oh,  how  good  you  are!  "  The}*  left  her,  but 
she  followed  to  see  them  mount.  When  Genestas  was 
in  the  saddle,  she  whispered  in  Benassis's  ear,  -'Who 
is  he?" 

-'Ha!  ha!  "  replied  the  doctor,  putting  his  foot  in 
the  stirrup,  "  a  husband  for  you,  perhaps." 

She  remained  standing,  and  watched  them  as  they 
rode  down  the  winding  way.  When  they  had  passed 
below  the  garden  they  saw  her,  perched  on  a  heap  of 
stones,  and  watching  still  to  give  them  a  last  nod. 

"  Monsieur,  there  is  something  very  extraordinary 
about  that  girl,"  said  Genestas  to  the  doctor,  when  they 
were  at  some  distance  from  the  house. 


TJie  Country  Doctor.  143 

"  Yes,  is  there  not?  I  have  told  nryself  a  score  of 
times  that  she  would  make  a  charming  wife  ;  but  I  can- 
not love  her  otherwise  than  as  we  love  a  sister  or  a 
mother  ;  my  heart  is  dead." 

"Has  she  any  relations ?"  asked  Genestas.  "Who 
were  her  father  and  mother  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  is  quite  a  history,"  said  Benassis.  "  She  has 
neither  father  nor  mother  nor  relatives.  Her  very  name 
has  an  interest  for  me.  The  Fosseuse  was  born  in  this 
village.  Her  father,  a  laborer  of  Saint-Laurent  du  Pont, 
was  called  the  Fosseur,  no  doubt  an  abbreviation  offos- 
soyeur,  because  the  office  of  grave-digger  had  been 
from  time  immemorial  in  his  family.  There  is  all  the 
gloom  of  a  cemetery  in  that  name.  According  to  an 
old  Roman  custom,  still  used  here  as  in  other  parts  of 
France,  which  consists  in  giving  to  women  the  names 
of  their  husbands,  with  the  feminine  termination  of  the 
words,  this  girl  is  called  the  Fosseuse  from  Fosseur, 
her  father's  name.  The  laborer  married,  for  love,  the 
lady's  maid  of  a  certain  countess,  whose  property  is  not 
many  miles  from  this  district.  Here,  as  in  most  country 
regions,  the  passion  of  love  counts  for  little  in  mar- 
riage. As  a  general  thing  the  peasant  wants  a  wife 
to  bear  him  children,  to  make  him  good  soup  and  bring 
it  to  the  fields,  to  spin  the  cloth  for  his  shirts,  and  mend 
his  coats.  For  a  long  time,  no  such  event  as  a  marriage 
for  love  had  happened  in  this  valley,  where  it  often 
happens  that  a  young  man  will  leave  his  betrothed  for 
some  richer  girl  who  has  three  or  four  more  acres  of 
land.  The  fate  of  the  Fosseur  and  his  wife  was  not 
sufficiently  happ}^  to  wean  the  country-people  from  such 
selfish  calculations.     La  Fosseuse,  the  mother,  was  a 


144  The  Country  Doctor. 

handsome  woman,  who  died  in  giving  birth  to  her 
daughter.  The  husband  took  his  loss  so  much  to  heart 
that  he  was  dead  within  a  jTear,  leaving  nothing  what- 
ever to  his  child  but  her  feeble  and  precarious  life. 
The  little  girl  was  charitably  cared  for  by  a  neighbor, 
who  brought  her  up  till  she  was  nine  years  old ;  by  that 
time,  her  support  became  too  heavy  an  expense  for  the 
wortlry  woman,  and  the  child  was  sent  to  beg  on  the 
highroad  at  the  season  of  the  }Tear  when  travellers  pass 
this  way.  It  happened  that  the  orphan  begged  at  the 
chateau  of  the  countess,  and  was  kept  there  in  memory 
of  her  mother.  She  was  trained  to  become  in  time  the 
waiting-maid  of  the  daughter  of  the  house,  who  was 
married  five  years  later.  Meantime,  the  poor  child  fell 
a  victim  to  the  caprices  of  rich  people,  who  for  the 
most  part  are  neither  gracious  nor  consistent  in  their 
generosity ;  benevolent  by  fits  and  starts,  now  patrons, 
then  friends,  often  masters,  they  make  the  already  false 
position  of  orphan  children  in  whom  they  take  an  in- 
terest, still  more  false  ;  they  thoughtlessly  toy  with  their 
hearts  and  lives  and  future  careers,  regarding  them  as 
of  little  account.  The  Fosseuse  became  at  first  almost 
the  companion  of  the  young  heiress ;  she  was  taught 
to  read  and  write,  and  her  future  mistress  sometimes 
amused  herself  by  giving  the  girl  music  lessons.  By 
turns  lady's-maid  and  companion,  her  masters  made 
an  incomplete  being  of  her.  She  contracted  a  taste  for 
luxury  and  fine  clothes,  and  acquired  manners  that 
were  out  of  keeping  with  her  real  position.  Since  then, 
misfortunes  have  harshly  tutored  her  spirit,  but  they 
have  never  effaced  its  sense  of  belonging  to  a  better 
destinj\     At  last,  one  day,  one  fatal  day,  the  young 


The  Country  Doctor.  145 

countess,  then  married,  discovered  the  girl,  who  by  that 
time  was  only  her  waiting-maid,  decked  out  in  one  of 
her  ball-dresses  and  dancing  before  a  glass.  The  or- 
phan, just  sixteen  years  old,  was  pitilessly  sent  away. 
Her  indolence  drove  her  back  into  poverty  ;  she  wan- 
dered about  the  roads,  begging  or  working  in  the  man- 
ner I  told  you.  Often  she  thought  of  jumping  into  the 
water,  —  sometimes  of  giving  herself  to  the  first-comer  ; 
the  greater  part  of  the  time  she  lay  in  the  sun  at  the 
foot  of  a  wall,  thoughtful  and  gloomy,  with  her  head 
in  the  grass.  Travellers  used  to  fling  her  a  few  sous, 
just  because  she  asked  for  nothing.  For  a  whole  year 
she  was  in  the  hospital  at  Annecy,  after  a  laborious 
harvest,  at  which  she  had  worked  beyond  her  strength 
in  the  hope  of  killing  herself.  You  should  hear  her  tell 
of  her  feelings  and  ideas  during  this  period  of  her  life  ; 
her  confidences  are  often  very  curious.  She  came  back 
to  this  valle}7  about  the  time  I  resolved  to  settle  here. 
Wishing  to  understand  the  morale  of  all  my  people, 
I  studied  her  character,  which  interested  me ;  then, 
after  discovering  her  organic  imperfections,  I  resolved 
to  take  care  of  the  poor  girl.  Perhaps  in  time  she  will 
get  accustomed  to  work  at  her  needle  ;  but  in  any  case, 
I  have  made  a  provision  for  her." 

"  She  is  very  lonel\T  up  there,"  said  Genestas. 

"No,"  replied  Benassis ;  "one  of  my  shepherd- 
women  sleeps  in  her  house.  You  did  not  notice  m}r 
farm  buildings  which  are  above  the  house,  for  they  are 
hidden  among  the  fir-trees.  Oh,  she  is  perfectly  safe. 
Besides,  we  have  no  lawless  fellows  in  our  valle}7 ;  if, 
by  chance,  one  turns  up,  I  send  him  to  the  army ;  they 
make  excellent  soldiers.'"' 

10 


146  The  Country  Doctor. 

"  Poor  girl  !  "  said  Genestas. 

"The  country-people  don't  pity  her,"  replied  the 
doctor.  "On  the  contrary,  they  think  her  ver}7  for- 
tunate. There's  this  difference  between  her  and  the 
other  women,  only  they  can't  see  it,  —  to  them  God  has 
given  strength,  to  her  weakness." 

As  the  two  riders  emerged  upon  the  new  road  to 
Grenoble,  Benassis,  who  foresaw  its  effect  upon  Gen- 
estas, reined  up,  with  a  satisfied  look,  to  enjoy  his 
surprise.  Two  walls  of  verdure,  sixty  feet  high,  bor- 
dered, as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  a  wide  road  raised 
and  rounded  in  the  middle  like  the  gravel- walk  of  a 
garden,  and  made  a  natural  monument  which  any  man 
might  well  be  proud  to  have  created.  Each  tree,  left 
untrimmed,  took  the  shape  of  the  enormous  green  palm 
which  makes  the  Lombardy  poplar  one  of  the  finest 
specimens  of  vegetation.  One  side  of  the  road,  which 
was  already  in  shadow,  resembled  a  vast  rampart  of 
black  foliage ;  while  the  other,  strongly  lighted  by  the 
setting  sun  which  touched  the  3'oung  shoots  with  tints 
of  gold,  offered  in  contrast  a  play  of  light  and  its 
reflections,  as  the  sunshine  and  the  breeze  touched  the 
swaying  curtain  of  leaves. 

"You  must  be  very  happ}T  here,"  cried  Genestas. 
"There  is  so  much  to  give  you  pleasure." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Benassis,  "  the  love  of  nature  is  the 
onl}r  love  which  does  not  disappoint  our  human  hopes. 
Here  there  are  no  deceptions.  These  poplars  are  011I3* 
ten  3'ears  old  ;  but  did  you  ever  see  an}*  better  grown  ?  " 

"God  is  great!"  said  the  soldier,  stopping  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  of  which  he  could  see  neither  the 
beginning  nor  the  end. 


The  Country  Doctor.  147 

"  You  do  me  good,"  said  the  doctor.  "  It  gives  nie 
pleasure  to  hear  }"ou  say  what  I  so  often  think  in  the 
middle  of  this  avenue.  Surely,  there  is  something  reli- 
gious in  this  spot.  We  are  two  specks  as  we  stand 
here,  and  the  sense  of  our  littleness  brings  us  back  to 
God." 

They  rode  slowly  and  in  silence,  listening  to  the  foot- 
fall of  their  horses,  which  sounded  along  the  verdant 
gallery  as  if  they  were  pacing  under  the  vaults  of  a 
cathedral. 

"  How  many  emotions  there  are  of  which  city  people 
know  nothing,"  said  the  doctor.  ' '  Do  you  smell 
the  odors  exhaled  by  the  gum  of  the  poplars  and  the 
young  shoots  of  the  larch  ?  how  delicious !  " 

44  Listen  !  "  exclaimed  Genestas  ;  "  wait  a  moment." 

They  heard  a  song  in  the  distance. 

44  Is  it  a  woman,  or  a  man,  or  a  bird?  "  said  the  cap- 
tain in  a  low  voice  ;  "or  is  it  the  voice  of  the  glorious 
scener}-  ?  " 

4 'It  is  something  of  them  all,"  replied  the  doctor, 
dismounting  and  fastening  his  horse  to  the  branch  of 
a  poplar. 

He  signed  to  the  officer  to  do  as  he  did,  and  to  fol- 
low him.  They  walked  slowly  along  a  footpath,  be- 
tween hedges  of  hawthorn  white  with  bloom  that  shed 
its  penetrating  perfume  on  the  moist  evening  atmos- 
phere. The  sunbeams  poured  into  the  narrow  way  with 
a  sort  of  impetuosity,  which  the  shadows  cast  b}T  the 
tall  curtain  of  poplars  made  all  the  more  perceptible ; 
the  vigorous  jets  of  light  enveloping  in  ruddy  tints  a 
cottage  placed  at  the  farther  end  of  the  sand}'  pathway. 
A  dust  of  gold  seemed  scattered  on  its  thatched  roof, 


148  The  Country  Doctor. 

usually  brown  like  the  shell  of  a  horse-chestnut,  and 
whose  ragged  eaves  were  green  with  house-leeks  and 
various  mosses.  The  cottage  itself  could  scarcely  be 
seen  in  the  haze  of  light ;  the  old  walls,  the  door, 
and  all  about  it  had  a  fugitive  glo^ ;  all  was  acci- 
dentally beautiful,  as  the  human  face  is  sometimes  seen 
to  be  under  the  influence  of  a  passion  that  warms  and 
colors  it.  In  the  free  life  of  the  open  air  we  meet  with 
fleeting  sylvan  loveliness  which  snatches  from  our  hearts 
the  wish  of  the  apostle  when  he  said  to  Jesus  on  the 
mountain,  "  Let  us  build  here  our  tabernacle."  Nature 
at  this  moment  seemed  to  have  a  voice  as  pure  and 
sweet  as  she  herself  is  pure  and  sweet ;  but  the  voice  was 
sad,  like  the  sun-gleams  that  were  dropping  westward, 
—  vague  images  of  death,  divine  warning  given  by 
the  sun  in  the  heavens,  as  the  flowers  and  the  pretty 
ephemeral  insects  give  it  upon  earth.  At  this  hour  the 
tints  of  the  sky  are  full  of  sadness,  and  the  voice  was  sad. 
It  sang  a  popular  song,  a  song  of  love  and  of  regret, 
that  roused  the  national  hatred  of  France  against  Eng- 
land until  Beaumarchais  restored  its  poetic  value,  and 
placed  it  on  the  French  stage  in  the  mouth  of  a  page 
opening  his  heart  to  his  godmother.  The  air  was  sung 
without  words,  in  plaintive  tones,  by  a  voice  which 
vibrated  on  the  soul  and  moved  it  to  pity. 

"  The  swan's  song  !  "  said  Benassis.  "  Not  twice  in 
a  generation  does  that  song  reach  the  ears  of  man. 
Make  haste,  I  must  stop  it.  The  child  is  killing  him- 
self; it  is  cruel  to  listen  any  longer —  Hush  !  Jacques, 
hush  !  "  cried  the  doctor. 

The  song  ceased.  Genestas  stood  still,  motionless 
and  bewildered.     A  cloud  obscured  the  sun ;  the  land- 


The  Country  Doctor.  149 

scape  and  the  voice  were  mute  together.  Cold  shadows 
and  silence  succeeded  the  soft  splendors  of  light,  the 
warm  breath  of  the  atmosphere,  and  the  song  of  the 
child. 

"  Why  do  you  disobe}T  me?"  said  Benassis.  "I 
will  give  you  no  more  rice-cakes,  no  more  snail-soup, 
or  fresh  dates,  or  white  bread.  Do  3*011  want  to  die, 
and  leave  your  poor  mother  all  alone?" 

Genestas  advanced  into  a  little  courtyard,  kept  toler- 
ably clean,  and  saw  a  boy  of  fifteen,  feeble  as  a  woman, 
blonde  in  complexion,  with  scarcely  any  hair,  and  a 
color  in  his  cheeks  that  looked  like  rouge.  Pie  rose 
slowly  from  the  bench  where  he  had  been  sitting  under 
a  tall  jasmine  and  some  lilac-bushes,  which  grew  wild 
and  had  nearly  covered  him  with  their  foliage. 

"  You  know,"  continued  the  doctor,  "  that  I  told  3011 
to  go  to  bed  before  the  sun,  and  not  expose  3'ourself 
to  the  evening  air ;  and  also  not  to  talk :  WI13*,  then, 
do  you  sing  ?  " 

"  But,  Monsieur  Benassis,  it  is  very  warm  here  ;  and 
it  is  so  good  to  be  warm.  I  am  always  cold.  I  felt  so 
comfortable  that  I  never  thought ;  I  began  to  sing 
Malbroug  s'e?i  va-t-en  guerre,  just  for  amusement,  and 
then  I  listened  to  myself,  for  my  voice  is  exactly  like 
the  pipe  of  3rour  shepherd." 

"  Well,  nry  poor  Jacques,  don't  do  it  again  ;  do  you 
hear?     Give  me  3Tour  hand." 

The  doctor  felt  his  pulse.  The  bo\T's  blue  e3Tes  were 
habitually  gentle,  but  fever  now  made  them  brilliant. 

"  Ah,  I  knew  it,  3Tou  are  in  a  perspiration,"  said 
Benassis  ;  "  is  your  mother  here?  " 

"  No,  monsieur." 


150  The  Country  Doctor. 

The  sick  lad,  followed  by  Benassis  and  the  captain, 
entered  the  cottage. 

1 '  Light  a  candle,  Captain  Bluteau,"  said  the  doctor, 
as  he  helped  Jacques  to  take  off  his  coarse  and  ragged 
clothing. 

When  Genestas  had  lighted  the  room  he  was  struck 
with  the  excessive  thinness  of  the  lad,  who  was  nothing 
more  than  skin  and  bone.  After  the  little  peasant  was 
put  to  bed,  Benassis  tapped  his  chest  and  listened  to 
the  noise  his  fingers  made  ;  then,  having  noted  those 
sounds  of  evil  augury,  he  drew  the  bedclothes  over  the 
boy,  stood  a  few  feet  away,  and  watched  him. 

"  How  do  you  feel,  my  little  man?  " 

"  Quite  well,  monsieur." 

Benassis  placed  a  little  table  with  four  turned  legs 
beside  the  bed,  looked  for  a  glass  and  phial  that  were 
on  the  mantel-shelf,  and  made  a  drink  b}'  pouring  into 
some  water  a  few  drops  of  a  brown  liquid  contained 
in  the  phial,  which  he  measured  carefully  by  the  light 
of  the  candle  held  by  Genestas. 

"  Your  mother  is  late  in  coming  home." 

"  Here  she  comes  now,  monsieur ;  I  hear  her  step  on 
the  path." 

The  doctor  and  the  officer  waited  and  looked  about 
them.  At  the  foot  of  the  bed  lay  a  mattress  of  dry 
moss,  without  sheets  or  covering,  on  which  the  mother 
no  doubt  slept  in  her  clothes.  Genestas  pointed  to  this 
couch,  and  Benassis  gently  inclined  his  head  as  if  to 
say  that  he  had  alread}7  admired  the  motherly  devotion. 
The  clattering  of  wooden  shoes  sounded  in  the  court- 
yard, and  Benassis  went  out  to  meet  the  woman. 

14  You  must  sit  up  with  Jacques  to-night,  mere  Colas. 


Tlie  Country  Doctor,  151 

If  he  sa}Ts  he  is  suffocating,  give  him  the  drink  I  have 
left  in  a  glass  on  the  table.  Be  careful  not  to  let  him 
have  more  than  two  or  three  swallows  at  a  time.  The 
quantit3T  in  the  glass  ought  to  last  all  night.  Above 
all,  don't  touch  the  phial.  Begin  b}'  changing  the  boy's 
clothing.     He  has  been  in  a  perspiration." 

"I  haven't  had  time  to  wash  his  shirts  to-day,  my 
dear  monsieur.  I  had  to  cany  my  hemp  to  Grenoble 
to  get  some  mone}\" 

"  Well,  I'll  send  3'ou  some  shirts." 

"  Is  he  worse,  nry  poor  lad?"  said  the  woman. 

"  We  can't  expect  him  to  be  better,  mere  Colas.  He 
has  had  the  imprudence  to  sing ;  but  don't  scold  him, 
don't  speak  harshly  to  him,  take  courage.  If  Jacques 
complains  very  much  send  a  neighbor  to  fetch  me. 
Adieu." 

The  doctor  called  to  his  companion,  and  they  returned 
along  the  path. 

44  Is  that  peasant  lad  consumptive?  "  asked  Genestas. 

"Yes,  indeed  he  is,"  answered  Benassis.  "  Science 
can't  save  him,  unless  through  some  miracle  of  nature. 
The  professors  at  the  School  of  Medicine  in  Paris  used 
to  tell  us  about  the  phenomenon  3Tou  have  just  wit- 
nessed. Certain  forms  of  the  disease  produce  changes 
in  the  voice  which  give  the  victims  a  momentary  faculty 
of  emitting  vocal  sounds  whose  perfection  is  never  at- 
tained by  any  virtuoso.  I  have  made  you  spend  a 
melancholy  day,  monsieur,"  said  the  doctor,  when  he 
had  mounted.  "On  all  sides  suffering,  on  all  sides 
death,  but  also  resignation.  Countiy-people  die  philo- 
sophically ;  the}'  suffer,  they  say  nothing,  they  crouch 
down  as  the  beasts  do.     But  don't  let  us  talk  of  death 


152  The  Country  Doctor. 

an}T  more ;  wc  will  ride  faster.  I  want  to  get  back 
to  the  village  before  dark,  so  that  30U  ma3T  see  the  new 
quarter." 

"Hey!  there's  a  fire  somewhere,"  said  Genestas, 
pointing  to  a  part  of  the  mountain  where  a  tongue  of 
flame  was  shooting  up. 

"  It  is  harmless.  Our  lime-burner  is  probably  light- 
ing his  kiln.  That  industry,  which  is  new  here,  utilizes 
the  heaths." 

The  sudden  report  of  a  gun  was  heard.  Benassis 
let  an  involuntaiy  exclamation  escape  him,  and  said, 
with  a  gesture  of  impatience,  — 

"  If  that  is  Butifer,  we  '11  soon  see  which  of  us  is  the 
stronger." 

"  The  shot  came  from  over  there,"  said  Genestas, 
pointing  to  a  beechwood  situated  above  them  on  the 
mountain  ;  "  trust  the  ears  of  an  old  soldier." 

"  Let's  get  there  quickly,"  cried  Benassis,  heading  in 
a  straight  line  for  the  little  wood,  and  sending  his  horse 
at  full  speed  over  the  fields  and  ditches  as  though  he 
were  riding  a  steeple-chase,  —  so  anxious  was  he  to 
catch  the  offender  in  the  act. 

"The  man  you  are  after  is  running  away,"  cried 
Genestas,  barely  able  to  keep  up  with  the  doctor. 

Benassis  wheeled  his  horse  round,  retraced  his  steps, 
and  the  man  he  was  pursuing  presently  showed  himself 
on  a  projecting  crag  some  hundred  feet  above  the  riders. 

"Butifer,"  said  Benassis,  observing  the  man's  long 
gun,  "  come  down." 

Butifer  recognized  the  doctor,  and  responded  by 
a  friendly  and  respectful  gesture  implying  perfect 
obedience. 


The  Country  Doctor.  153 

•'  I  can  Imagine,"  said  Genestas,  "  that  a  man  under 
the  influence  of  fear,  or  some  other  violent  sentiment, 
could  climb  up  that  point  of  rock ;  but  how  can  he  ever 
get  down  again  ?  " 

"I  am  not  uneas}-,"  answered  Benassis  ;  "the  goats 
ought  to  be  jealous  of  that  fellow.     You'll  see." 

Accustomed,  through  his  experience  of  war,  to  judge 
of  the  intrinsic  value  of  men,  the  captain  admired  the 
singular  agility  and  graceful  precision  of  all  Butifer's 
movements,  as  he  came  down  the  broken  face  of  the 
rock  he  had  so  audaciously  scaled.  The  lithe  and 
vigorous  body  of  the  hunter  balanced  itself  easily  in  all 
the  positions  which  the  steep  ridges  of  the  precipice 
compelled  it  to  take  ;  the  foot  was  planted  on  an  edge 
of  rock  as  tranquilly  as  on  a  floor,  so  sure  did  the  man 
seem  of  being  able  to  make  his  footing  good ;  and  he 
managed  his  long  gun  as  though  it  were  a  cane.  Butifer 
was  a  young  man  of  medium  height,  thin,  spare,  and 
sinew}7,  whose  virile  beaut}T  impressed  Genestas  when  he 
stood  beside  him.  He  belonged  to  the  class  of  smugglers 
who  ply  their  trade  without  violence,  and  empk>3T  only 
craft  and  patience  to  cheat  the  revenue.  His  face  was 
manly,  and  much  burned  by  the  sun.  His  eyes,  of  a  clear 
yellow,  gleamed  like  those  of  an  eagle,  to  whose  beak  his 
slim  nose,  slightly  curved  at  the  end,  bore  a  strong 
resemblance.  His  cheek-bones  were  covered  with  down. 
His  red  mouth,  half-open,  disclosed  teeth  of  dazzling 
whiteness.  His  beard,  his  mustache,  his  red  whiskers 
—  which  he  had  allowed  to  grow  and  which  curled 
naturally  —  intensified  the  virile  and  indomitable  ex- 
pression of  his  features.  In  him,  all  denoted  strength. 
The  muscles  of  his  hands,  continually  exercised,  had  a 


154  The  Country  Doctor. 

size  and  solidity  which  were  remarkable.  His  chest 
was  broad ;  his  brow  bore  the  signs  of  an  untutored 
intellect.  He  had  the  intrepid  and  resolute,  though 
quiet  air  of  a  man  who  was  accustomed  to  risk  his  life, 
and  who  had  so  often  exercised  his  bodily  or  his  intel- 
lectual powers  in  perils  of  all  kinds  that  he  no  longer 
felt  the  least  doubt  of  himself.  He  was  dressed  in 
a  blouse  torn  by  the  briers,  and  wore  leathern  soles 
bound  to  his  feet  by  strips  of  eelskin ;  a  pair  of  blue 
trousers,  pieced  and  slashed  open,  exposed  to  sight  his 
red  legs,  lean,  wiry,  and  active  as  those  of  a  deer. 

"You  see  the  man  who  once  shot  at  me,"  said  Ben- 
assis  in  a  low  voice  to  the  soldier.  "  If  now  I  expressed 
a  wish  to  be  rid  of  any  one  he  would  kill  him  without 
hesitation.  Butifer,"  continued  the  doctor,  addressing 
the  poacher,  "  I  thought  you  a  man  of  honor,  and  I 
pledged  my  word  for  you  because  you  had  pledged 
yours  to  me.  My  promise  to  the  procureur-du-roi  at 
Grenoble  rested  on  yours  that  you  would  hunt  no  more  ; 
that  you  would  settle  down  and  work  and  live  pru- 
dently. It  was  3*ou  who  fired  that  shot,  —  here,  on  land 
belonging  to  the  Comte  de  Labranchoir.  Hein !  sup- 
pose his  game-keeper  had  heard  it,  foolish  man  ?  It  is 
lucky  for  you,  I  won't  indict  you,  for  this  is  not  }Tour 
first  offence,  and  you.  have  no  license  to  carry  arms. 
Did  n't  I  let  you  keep  your  gun  simply  because  I  knew 
your  affection  for  it?" 

"It  is  a  beauty,"  said  the  captain,  recognizing  a 
duck-gun  from  the  manufactory  at  Saint-Etienne  on 
the  Loire. 

The  poacher  looked  up  at  Genestas  as  if  to  thank 
him  for  his  approbation. 


The  Country  Doctor.  155 

"  Butifer,"  continued  Benassis,  "your  conscience 
ought  to  reproach  you.  If  you  recommence  }-our  old 
courses,  you'll  find  yourself  cornered  some  day  in  a 
park  enclosed  with  walls.  No  protection  can  then 
save  you  from  the  gal^s ;  }Tou  '11  be  branded,  dis- 
graced. Bring  me  your  gun  this  very  night,  I  '11  take 
care  of  it  for  you." 

Butifer  clasped  the  stock  of  his  treasure  with  a  con- 
vulsive movement. 

"You  are  right,  monsieur  le  maire,"  he  said.  "I 
have  done  wrong ;  I  have  broken  my  pledge ;  I  'm  a 
dog.  My  gun  must  go  to  you,  but  you  will  get  it  as  a 
legacy.  The  last  shot  fired  by  the  child  of  my  mother 
goes  through  my  brain.  I  can't  help  it ;  I  have  done 
as  you  wished ;  I  have  kept  quiet  all  winter ;  but  in 
the  spring  the  sap  rises.  I  don't  know  how  to  dig ; 
I  have  n't  got  the  heart  to  spend  my  life  fattening 
chickens ;  and  I  can't  bend  m}T  spine  to  spade  vege- 
tables, nor  lash  the  air  driving  carts,  nor  live  in  a  stable 
and  rub  down  a  horse's  hide  :  must  I  therefore  perish 
of  hunger? — I  can't  live,  except  up  there,"  he  said, 
after  a  pause,  pointing  to  the  mountains.  "I've  been 
out  a  week.  I  saw  a  chamois,  and  the  chamois  is 
there,"  he  added,  nodding  at  the  crag.  "It  is  at  }'Our 
service.  My  good  Monsieur  Benassis,  let  me  keep  my 
gun.  Listen,  on  my  word  of  honor  I  '11  leave  the  dis- 
trict ;  I  '11  go  to  the  Alps,  where  the  chamois  hunters 
won't  sa}'  me  nay,  —  on  the  contrary,  thej'  '11  welcome  me 
with  pleasure  ;  and  I  shall  perish  on  a  glacier.  To  tell 
the  honest  truth,  I  would  rather  live  a  }-ear  or  two  on 
the  heights,  awa}'  from  governments,  and  revenue- 
officers,  and  gamekeepers,  and  prosecutors,  than  grovel 


156  The  Country  Doctor. 

in  your  bogs  for  a  hundred  years.  There 's  no  one  but 
you  that  I  'd  regret  to  leave  ;  all  the  others  weary  my 
life  out.  When  you  are  in  the  right,  you  at  least  don't 
attack  others  tooth  and  nail." 

"  And  Louise?  "  said  Benassis. 

Butifer  was  silent  and  thoughtful. 

"  Hey  !  my  lad,"  cried  Genestas,  "  learn  to  read  and 
write,  join  my  regiment,  ride  a  horse,  and  be  a  carabi- 
neer. If  the  '  boot  and  saddle '  ever  sounds  for  a  real 
war,  you  '11  see  that  the  good  God  meant  you  to  live  in 
the  midst  of  cannon,  and  shot,  and  battles.  You'll 
come  to  be  a  general ! " 

"Yes,  if  Napoleon  would  return,"  said  Butifer. 

"You  remember  our  agreement?"  said  the  doctor. 
"You  promised  to  become  a  soldier  at  3'our  second 
outbreak.  I  give  you  six  months  to  learn  to  read  and 
write,  and  then  I  shall  find  some  young  fellow  of  family 
who  wants  a  substitute." 

Butifer  looked  at  the  mountains. 

"Oh!  you  can't  go  to  the  Alps,"  cried  Benassis. 
"  A  man  like  you,  a  man  of  honor,  full  of  noble  quali- 
ties, ought  to  serve  his  country  and  command  a  brigade, 
and  not  die  at  the  tail  of  a  chamois.  The  life  you  lead 
will  land  you  in  the  galle}'S.  Your  tremendous  exer- 
tions will  force  you  to  take  long  rests  ;  and  after  a  while 
you  '11  contract  the  vices  of  a  laz}r  life,  which  will  de- 
stroy all  3'our  ideas  of  order,  and  lead  you  to  abuse  your 
own  health  and  punish  yourself;  I  want,  in  spite  of 
yourself,  to  put  }tou  in  the  right  way." 

"  Must  I  die  a  lingering  death  of  disgust  and  weari- 
ness ?  I  stifle  in  a  city.  I  can't  bear  more  than  one 
day  in  Grenoble  when  I  take  Louise  there." 


The  Country  Doctor.  157 

"  We  all  have  inclinations  which  we  must  learn 
to  fight  if  we  mean  to  be  useful  to  our  fellows.  But 
it  is  getting  late,  and  I'm  in  a  hurry.  You  must  come 
and  see  me  to-morrow,  and  bring  your  gun  ;  we  will 
talk  it  all  over,  my  son.  Adieu.  Sell  your  chamois  at 
Grenoble." 

"That's  what  I  call  a  man,"  said  Genestas,  as  they 
rode  on. 

"  A  man  with  his  feet  on  a  bad  road,"  answered  Be- 
nassis.  "  But  what  can  one  do?  You  heard  him.  Isn't 
it  deplorable  to  see  a  man  with  such  fine  qualities  throw 
himself  away?  If  an  enemy  were  to  invade  France, 
Butifer  at  the  head  of  a  hundred  young  fellows  could 
hold  a  division  in  the  Maurienne  for  a  month ;  but  in 
times  of  peace  he  can  only  spend  his  energy  in  braving 
the  laws.  He  needs  some  force  or  other  to  overcome  ; 
when  he  is  not  risking  his  life,  he  is  fighting  society  and 
helping  the  smugglers.  That  fellow  will  cross  the  Rhone 
by  himself  in  a  little  boat  to  carry  shoes  into  Savoie ; 
he  can  escape,  heavily  laden,  to  inaccessible  peaks, 
where  he  is  able  to  live  for  a  couple  of  days  on  a  crust. 
He  loves  danger  as  another  man  loves  sleep.  By  dint 
of  enjoying  pleasures  which  give  him  intense  sensations 
he  has  put  himself  outside  of  the  interests  of  everyday 
life.  Now,  I  am  not  willing  that  such  a  man,  by  fol- 
lowing the  unconscious  tendency  of  such  a  life,  should 
become  a  brigand  and  die  on  the  scaffold.  But  see, 
captain,  how  the  village  looks  from  here." 

Genestas  saw  in  the  distance  a  large  square  planted 
with  trees,  in  the  middle  of  which  was  a  fountain  sur- 
rounded by  poplars.  The  outer  circle  of  this  open 
ground  was  defined  by  slopes,  on  which  three  tiers  of 


158  The  Country  Doctor, 

trees  of  different  species  were  planted,  —  first  acacias, 
then  the  Japanese  ailanthus,  lastty,  to  crown  the  bank, 
some  small  elms. 

"That  is  the  ground  where  we  hold  our  fairs,"  said 
Benassis.  "  The  main  street  begins  with  the  two  good 
houses  of  which  I  spoke  to  you,  —  that  of  the  justice 
of  the  peace  and  the  notary." 

They  now  entered  a  wide  street  rather  neatly  paved 
with  cobble-stones,  on  either  side  of  which  about  a 
hundred  new  houses  had  been  built ;  all  of  them  sepa- 
rated by  gardens.  The  church,  whose  portico  made  a 
pretty  perspective,  closed  the  end  of  this  street,  from 
the  centre  of  which  two  others  had  lately  been  laid  out, 
where  several  houses  were  alread}'  built.  The  mairie, 
situated  on  an  open  square  near  the  church,  was  oppo- 
site the  parsonage.  As  Benassis  rode  forward,  women, 
children,  and  men  whose  day's  work  was  over,  came 
out  on  their  doorsteps.  Some  took  off  their  caps  to  him, 
others  bade  him  good-evening  ;  the  little  children  jumped 
about  his  horse,  as  if  the  kindness  of  the  animal  were  as 
well  known  to  them  as  that  of  its  master.  The  scene 
was  one  of  mute  or  murmured  gladness  that,  like  all 
deep  sentiments,  had  its  own  reserves,  and  its  commu- 
nicative attraction.  Genestas  thought,  as  he  noted  the 
welcome  that  was  proffered  to  the  doctor,  that  the  latter 
had  been  too  modest  in  the  account  he  had  given 
over-night  of  the  affection  felt  for  him  in  the  district. 
It  was  indeed  the  sweetest  of  royalties,  —  one  whose 
divine  rights  are  written  on  the  hearts  of  the  subjects ; 
a  royalty  that  is  real.  However  dazzling  the  rays  of 
the  power  or  the  glory  a  man  enjoys,  his  soul  soon 
gauges  the  satisfactions  that  all  external  action  procures 


The  Country  Doctor. 


159 


for  him  ;  he  perceives  his  real  nothingness  when  he  finds 
nothing  changed,  nothing  new,  nothing  grander  in  the 
exercise  of  his  physical  faculties.  Kings  may  possess 
the  earth,  but  they  are  forced,  like  other  men,  to  live  in 
a  little  circle  and  submit  to  its  laws  ;  and  their  happiness 
depends  on  the  personal  impressions  they  receive. 
Throughout  his  district  Benassis  met  with  nothing  but 
obedience  and  friendship. 


LIBRy^ 
SITT 


160  TJie  Country  Doctor, 


CHAPTER  ni. 

THE  NAPOLEON  OF  THE  PEOPLE. 

"Do  pray  come,  monsieur,"  cried  Jacquotte  ;  "these 
gentlemen  have  been  waiting  for  you  such  a  time.  But 
that's  always  the  wa}- !  you  spoil  my  dinner  when  it 
ought  to  be  particularly  good.  It  is  all  sodden  by  this 
time." 

"Well,  well,  here  we  are,"  said  Benassis,  laughing. 

The  riders  dismounted  and  entered  the  salon,  where 
the  guests  invited  by  the  doctor  were  assembled. 

"Messieurs,"  said  he,  taking  Genestas  by  the  hand, 
"I  have  the  honor  to  present  to  you  Monsieur  Bluteau, 
captain  of  a  regiment  of  cavalr}r  in  garrison  at  Grenoble, 
—  an  old  soldier,  who  has  promised  to  stay  some  time 
among  us." 

Then,  addressing  Genestas,  he  motioned  to  a  tall, 
thin  old  man  with  gray  hair,  dressed  in  black,  and 
said:  "This  is  Monsieur  Dufau,  the  justice  of  the 
peace  of  whom  I  spoke  to  you,  and  who  has  so  greatly 
contributed  to  the  prosperity  of  this  district.  This 
gentleman,"  he  continued,  taking  Genestas  up  to  a  pale 
young  man  of  medium  height,  also  dressed  in  black, 
and  who  wore  spectacles,  "is  Monsieur  Tonnelet,  the 
son-in-law  of  Monsieur  Gravier,  the  first  notary  who 
settled  in  the  village."  Then,  turning  to  a  stout  man, 
half-peasant,   half-bourgeois,  with   a   coarse,    blotched 


The  Country  Doctor.  161 

face,  that  was,  however,  full  of  good-humor,  "This," 
he  said,  "  is  Monsieur  Cambou,  my  worth}'  associate,  and 
the  wood-merchant  to  whom  I  owe  the  good-will  this 
community  has  bestowed  upon  me.  He  is  one  of  the 
projectors  of  the  new  road  which  you  admired  so  much. 
I  need  not,"  added  Benassis,  motioning  towards  the 
curate,  "  tell  you  the  profession  of  this  gentleman.  You 
see  a  man  whom  no  one  can  help  loving." 

The  countenance  of  the  priest  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  soldier  by  an  expression  of  moral  beauty  whose 
seduction  was  irresistible.  At  first  sight,  the  face 
might  seem  ill-favored,  for  the  lines  were  rugged  and 
severe.  The  slight  figure,  its  emaciation,  its  attitude, 
all  told  of  great  physical  weakness  ;  but  the  countenance, 
always  placid,  testified  to  the  deep  inward  peace  of 
a  Christian,  and  the  strength  begotten  by  chastity  of 
soul.  His  eyes,  which  seemed  to  reflect  the  skies,  re- 
vealed the  inextinguishable  fires  of  charity  which  con- 
sumed his  heart.  His  gestures,  infrequent  and  natural, 
were  those  of  a  modest  man,  and  his  movements  ha 
the  virgin  simplicit}'  of  a  young  girl's.  His  presence  4 
inspired  respect  and  a  vague  desire  for  closer  relations 
to  him. 

44  Ah,  monsieur  le  maire  !  "  he  said,  bending  as  if  to 
escape  the  praise  Benassis  bestowed  upon  him. 

The  tones  of  his  voice  stirred  the  soldier  to  his  very 
centre,  and  the  few  words  uttered  03-  this  unknown  man 
threw  him  into  a  rever}*  that  was  almost  religious. 

"Messieurs,"  said  Jacquotte,  coming  into  the  very 
middle  of  the  room,  and  standing  with  her  hands  on  her 
hips,  "  the  soup  is  on  the  table." 

Invited  by  the  doctor,  who  called  each  in  turn,  to 

11 


162  The  Country  Doctor. 

avoid  the  ceremonies  of  precedence,  the  five  guests 
passed  into  the  dining-room  and  sat  down  at  table, 
after  listening  to  the  Benedicite,  which  the  curate  re- 
cited in  a  low  voice,  without  emphasis.  The  table  was 
covered  with  a  cloth  of  the  double  damask  invented  in 
the  da}*s  of  Henry  IV.  by  the  brothers  Graindorge,  — 
clever  manufacturers,  who  gave  their  name  to  the  heavy 
fabric  so  well  known  to  housekeepers.  The  linen,  of 
dazzling  whiteness,  smelt  of  the  thyme  which  Jacquotte 
put  into  her  washtubs.  The  dinner-service  was  white 
porcelain  with  a  blue  edge,  in  perfect  preservation. 
The  decanters  had  the  antique  octagon  shape  which  in 
these  da}Ts  is  found  only  in  the  provinces.  The  han- 
dles of  the  knives  were  of  carved  horn,  and  each  repre- 
sented a  grotesque  figure.  These  relics  of  a  past 
luxury,  which  were  nevertheless  almost  new,  seemed  in 
keeping  with  the  frankness  and  warm-heartedness  of 
the  master  of  the  house.  The  attention  of  Genestas 
was  arrested  for  a  moment  by  the  cover  of  the  soup- 
tureen,  topped  by  a  bunch  of  vegetables  in  high  relief, 
and  very  well  colored  after  the  manner  of  Bernard 
Paliss}r,  a  celebrated  potter  and  enameller  of  the  six- 
teenth centur}^. 

The  assembled  company  was  not  wanting  in  original- 
ity. The  powerful  heads  of  Benassis  and  Genestas  con- 
trasted admirably  with  the  apostolic  head  of  Monsieur 
Janvier,  just  as  the  withered  faces  of  the  justice  of  the 
peace  and  the  assistant-mayor  threw  the  younger  face 
of  the  notaiy  into  relief.  Society  seemed  to  be  repre- 
sented by  these  diverse  plrysiognomies,  all  bearing 
signs  of  inward  contentment,  satisfaction  in  the  pres- 
ent, and  faith  in  the  future.     Monsieur   Tonnelet  and 


The  Country  Doctor.  163 

Monsieur  Janvier,  less  advanced  in  life,  liked  to  search 
into  the  events  of  the  future,  which  the}'  felt  belonged 
to  them  ;  the  other  guests  preferred  to  keep  the  con- 
versation to  the  past ;  but  all  looked  with  serious  eyes 
upon  the  things  of  life,  and  their  opinions  reflected  a 
double  tinge  of  melancholy  ;  one  side  had  the  pallor  of 
the  evening  twilight,  the  memory,  nearly  effaced,  of 
joys  that  never  could  return  ;  the  other,  like  the  dawn, 
gave  promise  of  another  day. 

"  You  must  be  very  tired  to-night,  monsieur  le  cure," 
said  Monsieur  Cambon. 

"  Yes,  monsieur,"  answered  Monsieur  Janvier,  "  the 
funeral  of  the  poor  cretin  and  that  of  Pere  Pelletier 
were  at  different  hours." 

"  We  can  now  pull  down  the  hovels  of  the  old  vil- 
lage," said  Benassis  to  his  associate.  "  To  clear  away 
these  houses  will  bring  us  in  at  least  as  much  as  an 
acre  of  fields.  The  district  will  also  save  the  hundred 
francs  it  cost  to  support  Claude  the  cretin." 

"  We  ought  to  put  that  hundred  francs  for  the  next 
three  years  into  building  a  bridge  with  one  arch  over 
the  great  brook  on  the  lower  road,"  said  Monsieur 
Cambon.  "  The  people  of  the  village,  and  of  the  val- 
ley too,  have  a  habit  of  crossing  the  land  of  Jean 
Francois  Pastureau,  and  they  will  end  by  spoiling  it  in  a 
way  to  injure  the  poor  man." 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  justice  of  the  peace,  "  the 
money  could  not  be  better  applied.  To  my  thinking, 
the  abuses  of  the  right  of  way  are  one  of  the  great  evils 
in  the  country.  A  tenth  of  all  the  suits  brought  in  the 
courts  relates  to  this  abuse  ;  it  attacks,  almost  with 
impunity,  the  rights  of  property  in  very  many  districts. 


164  The  Country  Doctor. 

Respect  for  property  and  respect  for  law  are  sentiments 
too  often  ignored  ;  it  is  necessary  to  promulgate  them. 
Many  persons  think  it  dishonorable  to  lend  assistance 
to  the  law,  and  the  saying,  '  go  and  get  hanged  else- 
where,' which  has  passed  into  a  proverb,  and  seems 
based  on  a  feeling  of  laudable  generosity,  is,  at  bottom, 
only  a  hypocritical  formula  which  serves  to  gloss  over 
our  own  egotism.  We  are  —  and  we  had  better  avow 
it  —  wanting  in  patriotism.  The  true  patriot  is  the 
citizen  who  is  sufficiently  convinced  of  the  importance 
of  the  laws  to  insist  on  their  being  executed,  even  at 
his  own  risk  and  peril.  Let  an  evil-doer  go  free,  and 
we  make  ourselves  guilty  of  his  future  crimes." 

"  All  things  hang  together,"  said  Benassis.  '*  If  the 
ma}Tors  kept  the  roads  in  good  repair  the  people  would 
make  no  by-paths.  If  common  councils  were  better 
educated  they  would  stand  by  the  owners  of  property 
and  the  mayors  whenever  they  oppose  an  unjust  right 
of  way :  all  should  unite  to  make  ignorant  persons 
see  that  castle,  field,  cottage,  and  tree  are  equally 
sacred,  and  that  the  question  of  Right  is  not  affectc  d 
by  the  different  values  of  property.  But  such  ideas 
cannot  be  forced ;  they  depend  on  the  moral  state  of 
the  population,  and  we  cannot  completely  reform  that 
without  the  efficacious  assistance  of  the  curates.  This 
is  not  addressed  to  you,  Monsieur  Janvier." 

"I  don't  take  it  to  myself,"  said  the  curate,  laugh- 
ing. "  Is  n't  my  heart  set  on  making  Catholic  doctrine 
chime  with  jour  administrative  creed  ?  I  often  en- 
deavor in  my  pastoral  teachings  as  to  theft  to  inculcate 
the  very  ideas  you  have  uttered  on  the  matter  of  rif/ht. 
God  does  not  measure  the   theft  by  the  value  of  the 


The  Country  Doctor.  165 

thing  stolen ;  he  judges  the  thief.  That  has  been  gist 
of  the  parables  I  try  to  adapt  to  the  intelligence  of  my 
parishioners." 

"  You  have  succeeded,  monsieur  le  cure,"  said  Cam- 
bon.  "I  can  judge  of  the  changes  you  have  worked 
in  the  minds  of  the  people,  by  comparing  the  present 
state  of  the  district  with  its  past.  Certainly  there  are 
few  neighborhoods  where  the  working-men  are  as  scru- 
pulous as  they  are  here  in  giving  their  full  hours  of 
labor.  The  cattle  are  better  cared  for,  and  do  no 
damage  unless  accidentally.  The  woods  are  respected. 
In  short,  3011  have  made  our  peasantry  understand  that 
the  leisure  of  the  rich  is  the  reward  of  a  thrifty  and 
serious  life." 

"  If  that  is  so,  monsieur  le  cure,"  said  Genestas, 
"  you  ought  to  be  well  pleased  with  your  flock." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  priest,  "  we  can't  expect  to 
find  angels  here  below.  Wherever  there  is  poverty 
there  is  suffering.  Suffering  and  poverty  are  living 
forces,  which  have  their  abuses  just  as  power  has. 
When  a  peasant  has  six  miles  to  walk  to  his  daily 
work,  and  returns  weary  in  the  evening,  only  to  see  a 
sportsman  cutting  across  fields  and  meadows  to  get 
the  sooner  to  his  dinner,  do  you  think  he  can  have 
much  scruple  in  doing  likewise  ?  Of  those  who  seize  a 
right  of  way,  about  which  you  were  complaining  just 
now,  who  is  the  delinquent?  —  the  man  who  works,  or 
he  who  amuses  himself?  The  rich  and  the  poor  both 
bring  evil  upon  us  in  these  days,  the  one  as  much 
as  the  other.  Faith,  like  power,  should  descend  from 
the  celestial  and  the  social  heights  above  us ;  neverthe- 
less, in  our  time,  the  upper  classes  have  less  faith  than 


166  The  Country  Doctor. 

the  body  of  the  people,  to  whom  God  promises  in  a 
future  life  a  compensation  for  their  woes  in  this,  if  they 
bear  them  patiently.  While  I  submit  to  ecclesiastical 
discipline,  and  defer  to  the  opinions  of  my  superiors,  I 
nevertheless  think  that  for  a  long  time  to  come  we 
ought  to  be  less  exacting  in  matters  of  doctrine,  and 
endeavor  to  bring  the  religious  sentiment  back  into 
the  heart,  here,  in  this  land,  where  men  are  discussing 
Christianity  instead  of  practising  its  maxims.  The 
philosophism  of  the  rich  has  been  a  fatal  example  to  the 
poor,  and  the  cause  of  long  interregnums  in  the  king- 
dom of  God.  The  power  that  we  gain  to-day  over  our 
flocks  depends  entirely  on  our  personal  influence.  Is  it  not 
a  misfortune  that  the  faith  of  a  district  is  owing  to  the 
respect  felt  for  one  man  ?  When  Christianity  has  again 
fertilized  the  social  system  by  impregnating  all  classes 
with  its  essential  principles,  its  worship  will  no  longer 
be  called  in  question.  The  worship  of  a  religion  is 
its  outward  form ;  societies  only  exist  by  forms  and 
signs.     To  you  the  banner,  to  us  the  cross." 

"Monsieur  le  cure,"  said  Genestas,  "I  should  like 
to  know  why  you  prevent  these  poor  people  from  dancing 
on  Sunday." 

"  Monsieur,"  answered  the  cure,  "we  do  not  dislike 
dancing  in  itself;  we  only  forbid  it  as  being  one  cause 
of  the  immorality  which  disturbs  the  peace  and  cor- 
rupts the  manners  of  the  country.  If  we  purify  the 
spirit  of  family,  and  insist  on  the  sacredness  of  its 
bonds,  do  we  not  cut  off  the  evil  at  its  roots?  " 

"  I  know,"  said  Monsieur  Tonnelet,  "  that  disorders 
must  be  expected  in  all  districts,  but  in  ours  they  are 
becoming  rare.     If  some  of  our  peasants  have  no  scru- 


The  Country  Doctor.  167 

pie  in  cheating  a  neighbor  of  a  furrow  of  earth  when 
they  till  it,  or  in  cutting  the  osiers  of  another  man  when 
the}T  want  them,  at  least  these  things  are  mere  pecca- 
dilloes compared  to  the  sins  of  the  city-folk.  I  think 
the  peasants  of  this  valle}7  are  veiy  religious." 

44  Oh,  religious  !  "  said  the  curate,  smiling  ;  "  fanati- 
cism is  not  to  be  dreaded  here." 

"■But,  monsieur  le  cure,"  said  Cambon,  "if  all  the 
villagers  went  to  mass,  and  confessed  to  }'ou  once  a 
week,  how  could  the}T  cultivate  the  land?  moreover,  3'ou 
would  need  three  priests,  instead  of  one,  to  attend  to 
your  duties." 

44  Monsieur,"  returned  the  curate,  "  labor  is  prayer. 
The  practice  of  duty  carries  with  it  a  knowledge  of  the 
religious  principles  that  are  the  life  of  societies." 

44  What  do  you  make  of  patriotism  ?  "  asked  Genestas. 

44  Patriotism,"  replied  the  curate,  gravel}',  "inspires 
only  transient  emotions  ;  religion  renders  them  lasting. 
Patriotism  is  a  momentary  forgetfulness  of  self-interest ; 
Christianity  is  a  complete  S3'stem  of  opposition  to  the 
depraved  tendencies  of  mankind." 

14  And  yet,  monsieur,  during  the  wars  of  the  Revolu- 
tion —  " 

"Yes,  during  the  Revolution  we  did  marvels,"  said 
Benassis,  interrupting  Genestas  ;  "  but  twenty  years 
later,  in  1814,  our  patriotism  was  already  dead  ;  whereas 
France  and  Europe  have  flung  themselves  upon  Asia 
twelve  times  in  a  hundred  3-ears,  —  driven  to  it  by 
religious  sentiment." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  justice  of  the  peace,  "  it  is  easy 
to  make  terms  with  the  selfish  interests  which  are  at  the 
bottom  of  the  struggles  of  nation  against  nation,  whereas 


168  The  Country  Doctor. 

the  religious  wars  undertaken  for  the  maintenance  of 
dogma,  the  object  of  which  can  never  be  precise,  are 
necessarily  interminable." 

"Monsieur!  }'ou  are  not  serving  the  fish,"  said 
Jacquotte,  who,  aided  by  Nicolle,  was  waiting  on 
table. 

Faithful  to  her  usual  custom,  the  cook  brought  in 
each  dish  by  itself,  one  after  the  other,  —  a  fashion 
which  has  the  inconvenience  of  obliging  gastronomes 
to  eat  a  great  deal,  while  moderate  people,  whose 
hunger  has  been  appeased  b}'  the  first  dishes,  are  com- 
pelled to  leave  the  choice  ones  untouched. 

"  Oh,  monsieur,"  said  the  priest  to  the  justice  of  the 
peace,  "  how  can  3'ou  assert  that  the  religious  wars  had 
no  distinct  purpose?  Formerly,  religion  was  so  pow- 
erful a  bond  in  society  that  material  interests  could  not 
be  separated  from  religious  questions.  Every  soldier 
knew  for  what  he  was  fighting." 

"  If  the3T  fought  so  often  for  religion,  God  must  have 
built  that  structure  very  imperfectly,"  said  Genestas. 
"  A  divine  institution  ought  to  convince  the  minds  of 
men  by  its  inherent  quality  of  truth,  ought  it  not?" 

All  the  guests  looked  at  the  curate. 

"Messieurs,"  said  Monsieur  Janvier,  "religion  is 
to  be  felt,  not  defined.  We  cannot  judge  the  means 
nor  the  ends  of  the  Almighty." 

"  From  that  point  of  view,  a  man  must  believe  in 
all  your  genuflections !  "  said  Genestas,  in  the  jovial 
tone  of  an  old  soldier,  little  accustomed  to  think  of 
God. 

"Monsieur,"  said  the  priest  gravely,  "  the  Catholic 
religion  brings  human  cares  and  perplexities  to  a  safe 


The  Country  Doctor.  169 

end.  But  were  it  otherwise,  I  might  still  ask  what  3-011 
risk  in  believing  its  truths  ?  " 

"  Not  much,"  said  Genestas. 

"  Well ;  and  what  do  you  not  risk  by  believing  noth- 
ing? However,  let  us  speak  of  the  earthly  interests 
which  more  nearly  touch  you.  See  how  strongly  the 
linger  of  God  is  imprinted  on  the  things  of  life  by  the 
hand  of  his  vicar.  Men  have  lost  much  in  wandering 
from  the  paths  marked  out  by  Christianity.  The 
Church,  whose  history  few  people  take  the  trouble  to 
read,  and  which  they  judge  by  certain  erroneous  opinions 
designedly  spread  abroad  among  the  masses,  offers  that 
perfect  model  of  government  which  men  are  searching 
for  to-day.  The  principle  of  election  has  long  made 
the  Church  a  great  political  power.  Formerly,  there 
was  not  a  single  religious  institution  that  was  not  based 
on  liberty  and  equality.  All  vocations  co-operated  in 
the  work.  The  heads  of  colleges,  abbes,  bishops,  the 
general  of  the  order,  and  the  Pope  himself  were  con- 
scientiously chosen  to  meet  the  needs  of  the  Church. 
The\-  gave  expression  to  its  idea ;  blind  obedience  was 
therefore  their  due.  I  refrain  from  speaking  of  the 
social  benefits  of  that  idea,  —  an  idea  which  has  made 
the  modern  nations,  which  has  inspired  so  man}*  poems, 
cathedrals,  statues,  pictures,  and  musical  works,  —  and 
I  will  only  ask  you  to  observe  that  your  general  elections, 
trial  by  jury,  and  the  two  Chambers  have  their  roots  in 
provincial  and  oecumenical  councils,  in  the  episcopate, 
and  the  college  of  cardinals,  —  writh  this  difference,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  that  the  present  philosophical  ideas  on 
civilization  pale  before  the  sublime  and  divine  idea  of 
Catholic   communion,    the   type   of  a  universal  social 


170  The  Country  Doctor. 

communion,  brought  about  by  the  Word  and  by  the 
Deed  united  under  the  control  of  religious  truth.  It  will 
be  difficult  for  the  new  political  systems,  however  per- 
fect they  are  held  to  be,  to  do  again  the  marvellous 
works  of  the  ages  in  which  the  Church  controlled  the 
human  intellect." 

"  Why  so?"  asked  Genestas. 

"  Because,  in  the  first  place,  election,  to  become  a 
principle,  requires  absolute  equality   in   the   electors , 
they  must  be  '  equal  quantities,'  to  use  a  geometrical 
expression,  and  that  equalit}^  modern  politics  can  never 
|  obtain.     Moreover,  the  great  things  of  social  existence 
, x<r    lean  only  be  done  by  the  power  of  such  sentiments  as 
^  «  \fr  fc-re  able  to  unite  men,  and  modern  philosophy  has  based 
^Jy      the   laws  on  personal   interests,    which   isolate   them. 
Formerly,  far  more  than  at  present,  men  were  found 
among  the  nations  who  were  generously  inspired  by  a 
maternal  sense  of  the  unrecognized  rights  and  sufferings 
i^J   I  of  the  masses.     Thus  the  priest,    child  of  the  middle 
y         classes,  opposed  the  material  forces  of  the  world,  and 
protected  the  people  from  their  oppressors.    The  Church 
has  had  territorial  possessions,  but  her  temporal  inter- 
ests,  which,  it  was   thought,  would    consolidate    and 
strengthen  her,  have,  in  the  end,  weakened  her  action. 
Indeed,  whenever  the  priest  has  privileged  property,  he 
appears  as  an  oppressor.     If  the  State  pays  him,  he  is 
servant  to  the  State,  and  his  time,  heart,  and  life  belong 
to  it ;  the  citizens   regard  his  virtues  as  mere  duties, 
and  his  benevolence,  quenched  by  the  doctrine  of  free- 
«  will,  drys  up  in  his  heart.     But  if  the  priest  be  poor,  if 
he  is  voluntarily  a  priest,  without  other  support  than 
his  God,  without  other  fortune  than  the  hearts  of  the 


t  V 


The  Country  Doctor.  171 

faithful,  he  becomes  the  missionary  of  America,  he 
makes  himself  an  apostle,  he  is  the  prince  of  good  :  he 
reigns  through  destitution,  he  falls  through  opulence." 

Monsieur  Janvier  had  held  the  attention  of  the  guests. 
The}'  remained  silent,  reflecting  on  such  novel  lan- 
guage from  the  lips  of  a  simple  curate. 

"  Monsieur  Janvier,  among  the  truths  which  you 
have  uttered,  there  is,  I  think,  one  serious  error,"  said 
Benassis.  "  I  do  not  like,  as  you  know,  to  argue  about 
the  public  interests  which  are  now  being  discussed  by 
modern  writers  and  authorities.  To  my  thinking,  a 
man  who  conceives  a  political  system  ought,  if  he  is 
conscious  of  the  power  to  apply  it,  to  keep  silence,  lay 
hold  of  the  necessary  authority,  and  act.  But  if  he 
remains  in  the  happy  obscurity  of  a  private  citizen, 
is  it  not  mere  folly  to  try  to  convert  the  masses  by  in- 
dividual discussions?  Nevertheless,  T  shall  combat 
you,  my  dear  pastor,  because  I  am  now  speaking  among 
men  of  principle,  accustomed  to  put  their  lights  to- 
gether in  the  search  for  truth.  My  ideas  may  seem 
strange  to  you ;  but  they  are  the  fruit  of  reflections 
which  the  catastrophes  of  our  last  forty  years  have 
forced  upon  me.  Universal  suffrage,  demanded  by 
those  who  form  what  is  called  the  constitutional  opposi- 
tion, was  an  excellent  principle  for  the  Church,  because, 
as  you  have  just  observed,  dear  pastor,  its  individuals 
were  educated,  disciplined  b}r  the  religious  sentiment, 
and,  one  and  all,  imbued  with  the  same  thought,  know- 
ing well  what  they  wanted,  and  whither  they  went. 
But  the  triumph  of  the  ideas  under  help  of  which  mod- 
ern liberalism  imprudently  makes  war  upon  the  pros- 
perous government  of  the  Bourbons,  will  lead   to  the 


172  The  Country  Doctor. 

ruin  of  France,  and  of  the  liberals  themselves.  The 
chiefs  of  the  Left  know  this.  For  them  the  struggle  is 
simply  one  for  the  possession  of  power.  If,  which  God 
forbid,  the  bourgeoisie  were,  under  the  banner  of  the 
opposition,  to  strike  down  the  social  superiorities  against 
which  its  vanity  rebels,  its  triumph  would  be  at  once 
followed  by  a  struggle  between  itself  and  the  masses, 
who  would  then  regard  it  as  a  species  of  nobilit}^, 
—  paltry,  it  is  true,  —  whose  wealth  and  whose  privi- 
leges would  be  all  the  more  obnoxious  because  the  two 
classes  are  nearer  together.  In  such  a  struggle,  soci- 
ety, I  will  not  say  the  nation,  will  once  more  perish ; 
for  the  triumph,  always  momentar}',  of  the  suffer- 
ing masses  brings  with  it  the  worst  disorders.  The 
battle  will  be  desperate,  and  without  quarter  ;  for  it  will 
come  of  fundamental  differences,  instinctive  or  acquired, 
among  the  electors,  the  most  numerous  and  the  least 
enlightened  of  whom  will  carry  the  day  against  social 
eminence  in  a  system  where  votes  are  counted  and  not 
weighed.  It  follows  from  this  that  a  government  is 
never  more  strongly  organized,  consequently  never 
more  perfect,  than  when  it  is  formed  for  the  defence  of 
a  limited  Privilege.  What  I  mean  by  '  privilege '  is 
not  the  sort  of  right  unrighteously  .conceded  in  former 
times  to  the  few  to  the  injury  of  the  many  ;  no,  I  mean 
more  particularly  the  social  circle  to  which  the  evolu- 
tions of  power  are  confined.  Power  is,  as  it  were,  the 
heart  of  a  State.  Nature,  in  all  her  creations,  shuts  in 
the  vital  principle  to  give  it  greatei  stamina ;  so  with 
the  body  politic.  Let  me  explain  my  meaning  b}T  an 
example  :  say  that  France  has  a  hundred  peers ;  they 
are  a  hundred  causes  of  offence  and  no  more.     Abolish 


The  Country  Doctor.  .  173 

the  peerage,  and  at  once  every  rich  man  becomes  a 
privileged  person.  Instead  of  a  hundred,  you  have  ten 
thousand,  and  you  enlarge  the  sore  of  social  inequal- 
ities. In  fact,  to  the  working-classes  the  right  to  live 
without  working  constitutes,  in  itself,  a  privilege.  In 
their  eyes,  those  who  consume  without  producing  are 
robbers.  They  demand  visible  labor,  and  take  no  ac- 
count of  the  intellectual  productions  which  enrich  them. 
So,  by  multiplying  their  objects  of  envy,  }Tou  extend 
the  struggle  over  all  parts  of  the  social  bod}T,  instead 
of  limiting  it  to  a  narrow  circle.  Whenever  the  attack 
and  the  defence  become  general  over  the  whole  field, 
the  ruin  of  the  nation  is  imminent.  There  will  always 
be  fewer  rich  than  poor ;  therefore  to  the  latter  victory 
will  belong  so  soon  as  the  struggle  becomes  material. 
And  histoiy  proves  nry  position.  The  Roman  republic 
owed  its  conquest  of  the  world  to  the  institution  of 
senatorial  privilege.  The  senate  upheld  the  idea  of 
power.  But  as  soon  as  the  knights  and  the  new  men 
extended  the  action  of  the  government,  by  enlarging  the 
order  of  the  patricians,  the  national  cause  was  lost. 
In  spite  of  Sylla,  and  after  Caesar,  Tiberius  made 
Rome  an  empire,  —  a  system  under  which  power,  being 
concentrated  in  the  hands  of  one  man,  gave  to  tha£ 
mighty  dominion  a  few  more  centuries  of  existence. 
The  emperor  was  no  longer  in  Rome  when  the  eter 
nal  city  fell  into  the  hands  of  barbarians.  When  our 
own  soil  was  conquered,  the  Franks  who  divided  it  in- 
vented feudal  privileges  to  secure  their  individual  pos- 
sessions. The  hundred,  or  the  thousand  chiefs  who 
seized  the  territory  formed  their  institutions  with  the 
object  of  defending  the  rights  they  had  won  through 


174  The  Country  Doctor. 

conquest.  Feudalism  lasted  just  so  long  as  preroga- 
tive was  restricted  within  limits.  But  when  the  num- 
bers of  the  privileged  class  rose  from  five  hundred  to 
fifty  thousand  there  was  revolution.  The  action  of 
their  power,  by  becoming  too  extended,  was  without 
elasticity  or  strength ;  and  it  was  also  without  defence 
against  the  acquired  liberties  of  money  and  thought 
which  it  had  not  foreseen.  Therefore  the  triumph  of 
the  bourgeoisie  over  the  monarchical  system,  which  has 
for  its  object  the  increase,  in  the  eyes  of  the  people,  of 
the  numbers  of  the  privileged  class,  will  find  its  inevi- 
table end  in  the  triumph  of  the  masses  over  the  bour- 
geoisie. When  that  struggle  arises,  its  weapon  in 
hand  will  be  the  right  of  suffrage,  given  without  restric- 
tion to  the  masses.  He  who  votes,  discusses.  Author- 
ity when  discussed  does  not  exist.  Can  3-ou  imagine  a 
society  without  authority  ?  No.  Well  then,  authority 
means  force  ;  and  force  rests  on  a  judgment  rendered. 

"Such,"  continued  Benassis,  "  are  the  reasons  which 
have  led  me  to  think  that  the  principle  of  election  is 
one  that  will  prove  fatal  to  the  existence  of  modern 
governments.  I  think  I  have  sufficiently  proved  my 
attachment  to  the  poor  and  suffering ;  I  cannot  be 
accused  of  wishing  them  ill :  but  while  I  admire  them 
in  the  laborious  paths  they  tread  with  sublime  patience 
and  resignation,  I  declare  my  belief  that  the}'  are  in- 
capable of  sharing  in  the  work  of  government.  The 
proletaries  seem  to  me  the  wards  of  a  nation,  to  remain 
always  under  guardianship.  And  so,  in  my  opinion, 
messieurs,  the  word  'election'  is  about  to  cause  as 
much  harm  as  the  words  '  conscience '  and  '  liberty,'  — 
words  ill-understood  and  ill-defined,  and  flung  to  the 


The  Country  Doctor.  175 

people  as  the  s}-mbols  of  revolt  and  the  watch- words  of 
destruction.  The  guardianship  of  the  masses  seems 
to  me  both  just  and  necessary  to  the  maintenance  of 
societ}-." 

"  Your  system  runs  atilt  against  all  the  ideas  of  the 
present  day,"  said  Genestas,  interrupting  the  doctor; 
"  and  so  we  have  some  right  to  ask  for  your  reasons." 

"  I  will  give  them  willingly,  captain." 

"  What 's  that  the  master  is  saj'ing?"  cried  Jac- 
quotte,  returning  to  her  kitchen.  "If  the  poor  dear 
man  is  n't  advising  them  to  crush  down  the  people,  and 
they  are  listening  to  him  !  " 

"  I  would  n't  have  believed  it  of  Monsieur  Benassis ! " 
answered  Nicolle. 

"  If  I  demand  vigorous  laws  to  restrain  the  ignorant 
masses,"  resumed  the  doctor,  after  a  slight  pause,  "I 
also  wish  the  social  system  to  be  a  light  and  open  net- 
work, through  which  every  one  who  feels  within  himself 
the  faculty  for  better  things  may  rise  above  the  crowd. 
All  power  aims  at  its  own  preservation.  To  live,  gov- 
ernments should,  to-day  as  much  as  in  former  days, 
draw  strong  men  about  them,  taking  such  men  where- 
ever  they  can  find  them,  making  defenders  of  them  and 
thus  withdrawing  from  the  masses  the  element  of  energy 
which  incites  them  to  revolt.  B}T  opening  to  public 
ambition  careers  that  are  both  arduous  and  eas}', — 
arduous  to  feeble  and  half-formed  desires,  easy  to 
vigorous  wills,  —  a  State  prevents  revolutions  caused 
by  the  obstructions  which  superiority  encounters  when 
seeking  to  rise  to  its  proper  level.  Our  forty  years 
of  national  disturbance  ought  to  prove  to  men  of  sense 
that   eminence    is   the    consequence   of   social   order. 


176  The  Country  Doctor. 

Eminence  is  of  three  kinds,  and  all  are  incontestable : 
eminence  of  thought,  eminence  of  political  gifts,  emi- 
nence of  fortune.  Are  not  these,  in  other  words,  art, 
power,  and  mone}',  —  or,  the  principle,  the  means,  and 
the  result?  Now,  if  we  suppose  a  clean  sweep,  a  tabula 
rasa,  all  the  social  parts  absolutely  equal,  births  in  the 
same  proportion,  and  each  famil}*  owning  an  equal  share 
of  the  land,  }rou  will  soon  find  the  old  inequalities 
of  fortune  cropping  up :  and  the  argument  from  that 
flagrant  truth  is  that  eminence  of  fortune,  of  thought, 
of  power,  is  a  fact  that  must  be  submitted  to,  —  a  fact 
which  the  masses  will  ever  consider  oppressive  as  they 
see  the  privileges  of  the  rights  so  justly  acquired.  The 
social  contract,  resting  on  this  foundation,  must  there- 
fore ever  be  a  compact  between  those  who  possess  and 
those  who  possess  not.  According  to  this  principle, 
the  laws  will  be  made  by  those  whom  the  laws  are  to 
benefit ;  for  they  have,  of  course,  the  instinct  of  self- 
preservation  and  the  foresight  of  danger.  They  are 
more  interested  in  the  tranquillity  of  the  masses  than 
the  masses  themselves.  What  the  people  wants  is 
happiness  ready-made.  If  }Tou  consider  societ}'  from 
that  standpoint,  if  you  view  it  in  its  entirety,  you  will 
agree  with  me  that  the  right  of  election  should  only  be 
exercised  by  men  who  possess  propeily,  power,  or  in- 
telligence ;  and  you  will  also  admit  that  their  repre- 
sentatives should  possess  none  but  extremely  limited 
functions.  The  legislator,  messieurs,  ought  to  be  su- 
perior to  his  generation.  He  takes  note  of  the  tendency 
of  public  errors,  and  records  the  points  towards  which 
the  ideas  of  a  nation  incline  ;  he  works  more  for  the 
future  than  for  the  present ;  more  for  the   generation 


The  Country  Doctor.  177 

that  is  coming  than  for  the  one  that  is  passing  away. 
Now,  if  3'ou  call  upon  the  masses  to  make  the  laws,  can 
the  masses  rise  superior  to  themselves?  No.  The 
more  faithfully  the  assembly  represents  the  opinions  of 
the  crowd,  the  less  will  it  understand  the  true  meaning 
of  government,  the  less  elevated  will  be  its  views,  the 
less  precise,  the  more  vacillating  will  be  its  legislation  ; 
for  the  mob  is,  in  France  especially,  and  ever  will  be,  a 
mob.  The  law  carries  with  it  subjection  to  rules ;  all 
rules  are  in  opposition  to  natural  habits,  and  to  the 
interests  of  individuals :  will  the  masses  ever  consent 
to  make  or  bear  laws  against  themselves?  No.  Often 
the  tendency  of  laws  must  lie  in  direct  opposition  to  the 
tendency  of  habits  and  customs.  Frame  the  laws  on 
the  habits  of  a  people,  and  you  will  give  a  premium  of 
encouragement,  in  Spain,  to  fanaticism  and  do-nothing- 
ism  ;  in  England,  to  the  mercantile  spirit ;  in  Italy,  to 
the  love  of  arts,  destined  to  express  society,  but  which 
never  can  be  societ}'  itself;  in  German}',  to  nobiliary 
classifications  ;  and  in  France,  to  the  spirit  of  frivolity, 
to  fashions  in  ideas,  to  the  habit  of  dividing  ourselves 
into  factions  by  which  we  are  rent  to  pieces.  Look  at 
what  has  happened  in  the  fort}'  years  since  the  electoral 
colleges  first  had  a  hand  in  the  laws  :  we  have  fort}r  thou- 
sand laws.  A  people  with  forty  thousand  laws  has  no 
law.  Can  five  hundred  mediocre  intellects — for  no  gene- 
ration has  more  than  a  hundred  great  minds  at  its  com- 
mand —  can  such  intellects  have  the  force  to  rise  above 
these  considerations?  No.  Men  brought  from  time  to 
time,  from  five  hundred  different  localities,  will  never  un- 
derstand the  spirit  of  law  in  unison  :  yet  law  is  unity. 
"But,"  continued   the   doctor,    "I  go  further  still. 

12 


178  The  Country  Doctor. 

Sooner  or  later  a  parliament  falls  under  the  sceptre  of  a 
man,  and  instead  of  having  the  dynasties  of  kings,  you 
have  the  ever- changing  and  costly  ctynasties  of  prime 
ministers.  At  the  bottom  of  all  deliberations  we  find 
Mirabeau,  Dan  ton,  Robespierre,  or  Napoleon,  —  procon- 
suls or  an  emperor.  In  fact,  it  needs  a  given  quantity 
of  force  to  raise  a  given  quantity  of  weight.  This  force 
can  be  divided  among  a  more  or  less  large  number 
of  levers ;  but  their  power  must  be  in  proportion  to 
the  weight.  Now  here  the  weight  is  the  ignorant 
and  suffering  mass  of  beings,  which  make  the  base 
of  all  societies.  Power,  being  in  its  nature  repressive, 
has  need  of  great  concentration  to  oppose  an  equal 
resistance  to  the  surge  of  popular  movement.  That 
is  the  application  of  the  principle  I  stated  to  30U 
just  now,  when  speaking  of  the  restriction  of  the  gov- 
ernment privilege  to  the  few.  If  you  admit  men  of 
talent,  they  bow  to  this  natural  law  and  bring  the  na- 
tion under  it ;  if  3-011  assemble  men  of  inferior  qualities, 
they  are  vanquished  sooner  or  later,  b}T  the  superior 
element :  the  deputy  of  talent  recognizes  the  reasons  of 
State,  the  man  of  mediocrity  makes  terms  with  force. 
In  short,  an  assembly  yields  to  an  idea,  like  the  Con- 
vention during  the  Terror ;  to  a  power,  like  the  Corps 
Legislatif  under  Napoleon ;  to  a  system  or  to  mone}', 
as  it  does  to-da}T.  The  republican  parliament  of  which 
some  good  souls  dream  is  an  impossibility ;  those  who 
wish  it  are  ready-made  dupes,  or  future  tyrants.  A 
deliberating  assembly  which  discusses  the  dangers  of  a 
nation  when  it  ought  to  force  it  to  take  action,  is  ridic- 
ulous ;  don't  }'ou  think  so?  Let  the  people  send  repre- 
sentatives to  impose  or  rescind  taxes ;  that,  indeed,  is 


The  Country  Doctor.  179 

just  and  has  been  allowed  at  all  times,  —  by  the  worst 
tyrants  as  well  as  the  most  compliant  of  kings.  Let 
this  elective  bod}',  which  changes  like  the  needs  and 
the  ideas  which  it  represents,  oppose,  on  behalf  of  all, 
the  concession  of  obedience  to  a  bad  law  ;  that  is  well. 
But  suppose  five  hundred  men,  gathered  from  all  parts 
of  the  empire,  were  to  make  a  good  law  ;  would  it  not 
be  a  poor  joke  which  sooner  or  later  the  populations 
would  have  to  pay  for  ?  They  change  tyrants,  that  is 
all.  Authority  and  law  ought  therefore  to  be  the  work 
of  one,  who,  b}r  the  force  of  things,  is  continually  com- 
pelled to  submit  his  actions  to  public  approbation.  But 
the  modifications  brought  into  the  exercise  of  power  — 
whether  that  of  one  man,  or  of  many  men,  or  of  a  mul- 
titude—  can  only  be  found  in  the  religious  institutions 
of  a  people.  Religion  is  the  only  counterbalancing  agent 
that  is  really  efficacious  against  abuses  of  the  supreme 
power.  If  the  religious  sentiment  perishes  among  a 
people,  the  masses  become  seditious  on  principle,  and 
the  prince  makes  himself  a  tyrant  b}T  necessity.  The 
Chambers  which  are  interposed  between  the  sovereign 
and  his  subjects  are  mere  palliatives  to  these  two  ten- 
dencies. Parliamentary  assemblies,  as  T  have  just  said, 
become  the  accomplice  of  insurrection  or  of  tyranny. 

"  Nevertheless,"  continued  Benassis,  checking  himself, 
"the  government  of  one,  towards  which  I  lean,  is  not 
an  unmixed  good  ;  for  the  result  of  politics  will  depend 
forever  on  manners  and  morals  and  beliefs.  If  a  nation 
has  grown  old,  if  philosophy  and  the  spirit  of  con- 
trovers}'  have  corrupted  it  to  the  marrow  of  its  bones, 
that  nation  is  marching  on  to  despotism  in  spite  of  its 
forms  of  liberty  ;  in  like  manner,  the  sounder  nations 


180  The  Country  Doctor. 

will  find  liberty  in  spite  of  the  forms  of  despotism. 
From  all  this  comes  the  necessity  for  great  restrictions 
on  electoral  rights,  the  necessit}T  for  a  strong  authority, 
the  necessity  for  a  powerful  religion  which  shall  make 
the  rich  man  the  friend  of  the  poor  man,  and  teach  the 
poor  entire  resignation.  Also  there  is  urgent  need  of 
confining  parliaments  to  questions  of  taxation,  and  the 
enrolment  of  the  laws,  taking  from  them  the  direct  duty 
of  law-making.  Mairy  minds  form  other  ideas  on  this 
subject,  I  know.  To-da}',  as  in  former  da3*s,  we  find 
men  searching  ardently  for  the  highest  good,  who  desire 
to  change  the  ordering  of  society  to  something  wiser 
and  better  than  at  present.  But  innovations  which  tend 
towards  complete  social  upsetting,  must  have  a  univer- 
sal sanction.  To  such  innovators  I  advise  patience. 
When  I  consider  the  time  which  was  required  for  the 
establishment  of  Christianity,  a  moral  revolution  which 
was  meant  to  be  purely  pacific,  I  shudder  to  think  of 
the  horrors  of  a  revolution  for  material  interests,  and 
jl  cling  to  the  maintenance  of  existing  institutions.  To 
each  his  own  thought,  sa}Ts  Christianity :  to  each  his 
own  field,  says  modern  law.  Modern  law  has  placed 
itself  in  harmon}r  with  Christianity.  To  each  his  own 
thought,  is  a  consecration  of  the  rights  of  intellect ;  to 
each  his  own  field,  is  the  consecration  of  the  rights  of 
property  won  by  the  toils  of  labor.  Out  of  this  comes 
society.  Nature  has  founded  human  life  on  the  senti- 
ment of  self-preservation ;  social  life  is  founded  on 
self-interest.  Those  seem  to  me  the  essential  politi- 
cal principles.  In  subordinating  these  two  egotistic 
sentiments  to  the  thought  of  a  future  life,  religion 
i     softens  the  hardship  of  social  contacts.    Thus,  God  tern- 


The  Country  Doctor,  181 

pers  the  sufferings  that  come  through  the  friction  of 
interests  by  the  sentiment  of  religion,  which  has  made 
self-forge tfulness  a  virtue,  just  as  he  has  lessened, 
through  the  action  of  unknown  laws,  the  frictions  in  the 
mechanism  of  his  worlds.  Christianity  bids  the  poor 
to  bear  with  the  rich,  and  commands  the  rich  to  com- 
fort the  miseries  of  the  poor ;  to  me,  those  words  are 
the  essence  of  all  laws,  human  or  divine." 

"  I,  who  am  not  a  statesman,"  said  the  notary,  "  I  call 
a  sovereign  the  liquidator  of  a  society  that  ought  to 
be  in  a  perpetual  state  of  liquidation  ;  he  transmits  to 
his  successor  a  capital  equal  to  the  one  he  received  —  " 

"  I  am  not  a  statesman,"  said  Benassis,  quickly.  "  It 
only  needs  plain  common-sense  to  improve  the  condi- 
tion of  a  district,  a  village,  or  an  arrondissement.  Tal- 
ent of  course  is  necessaiy  to  govern  a  department,  but 
those  four  spheres  of  administration  have  horizons  which 
can  be  taken  in  at  a  glance  by  ordinary  eyes  ;  their  in- 
terests, however,  are  fastened  to  the  greater  interests 
of  the  State  b}T  visible  ties.  In  the  higher  regions  all 
is  on  the  larger  scale  ;  the  e3'e  of  a  statesman  ought  to 
see  the  whole  field  from  the  vantage-ground  on  which 
he  is  placed.  To  produce  much  good  in  a  department, 
an  arrondissement,  a  district,  or  a  village,  it  is  only 
necessary  to  foresee  results  for  ten  j'ears  ahead ;  but 
when  the  nation  is  in  question,  a  statesman  must  fore- 
cast its  destinies  and  measure  its  course  throughout  a 
century.  The  genius  of  a  Colbert  and  a  Sully  is  noth- 
ing unless  it  rests  upon  the  will  which  made  the  Napo- 
leons and  the  Cromwells.  A  great  minister,  messieurs, 
is  a  great  thought,  written  upon  all  the  }Tears  of  the 
centiuy  whose  splendor  and  prosperity  are  his  work. 


182  The  Country  Doctor* 

'  Stability  is  the  quality  he  most  needs.  Indeed,  in  all 
things  human,  is  not  stabilit}7  the  highest  expression  of 
strength?  We  have  seen  too  many  men  of  late  with 
ministerial  ideas  instead  of  national  ideas,  not  to  ad- 
mire the  true  statesman  as  one  who  presents  to  us  the 
greatest  of  human  poems.  To  look  beyond  the  present 
and  forestall  destiny ;  to  be  above  power,  and  to  hold 
it  only  from  a  conviction  of  usefulness  ;  to  la}7  aside  his 
passions  and  all  vulgar  ambitions  that  he  may  remain 
master  of  his  faculties,  and  foresee,  decide,  and  act 
unceasingly ;  to  make  himself  just  and  absolute ;  to 
maintain  order  on  the  grandest  scale  ;  to  impose  silence 
on  his  own  heart,  and  listen  only  to  his  intellect ;  to 
be  neither  trustful  nor  distrustful,  neither  grateful  nor 
ungrateful,  never  unprepared  for  an  event,  nor  sur- 
prised by  an  idea ;  to  live,  in  short,  by  the  esteem  of 
the  masses,  and  hold  the  master}'  by  spreading  over 
them  the  wings  of  his  own  spirit,  seeing,  not  the  de- 
tails, but  the  consequences  of  everything,  —  is  not  that 
to  be  a  little  more  than  man  ?  The  names  of  those 
great  and  glorious  fathers  of  the  nations  should  be  held 
.    forever  in  popular  remembrance." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  during  which  the 
guests  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Messieurs,  you  have  said  nothing  of  the  army," 
cried  Genestas.  wt  The  military  organization  seems  to 
me  the  true  type  for  all  good  civil  society ;  the  sword 
is  the  guardian  of  a  people." 

"  Captain,"  replied  the  justice  of  the  peace,  laughing, 
"  an  old  lawyer  once  said  that  empires  began  by  the 
sword  and  ended  with  an  inkstand  ;  we  have  got  to 
the  inkstand." 


The  Country  Doctor.  183 

"  Messieurs,  now  that  we  have  settled  the  destinies 
of  the  world,  let  us  talk  of  other  things.  Captain,  take 
a  glass  of  Hermitage,"  cried  the  doctor,  gayly. 

"  Two,  rather  than  one,"  said  Genestas,  holding  out 
his  glass  ;  "  I  will  drink  them  to  your  health,  as  to  that 
of  a  man  who  does  honor  to  our  species." 

"  And  whom  we  love,"  said  the  curate  in  a  gentle 
voice. 

"  Monsieur  Janvier,  do  3*011  wish  to  make  me  commit 
the  sin  of  pride  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  le  cure  said  in  a  low  voice  what  all  the 
district  says  in  a  loud  one,"  said  Cambon. 

"  Messieurs,  I  propose  that  we  escort  Monsieur  Jan- 
vier to  the  parsonage  ;  it  is  bright  moonlight." 

"So  be  it,"  said  the  guests,  and  the}*  prepared  to 
accompany  the  curate. 

"  Now  let  us  go  to  my  barn,"  said  the  doctor,  taking 
Genestas  by  the  arm,  after  saying  good-night  to  the 
curate  and  his  other  guests.  "  And  there,  Captain 
Bluteau,  you  will  hear  about  Napoleon.  We  shall  find 
a  few  old  cronies  who  will  set  Goguelat,  the  postman, 
to  declaiming  about  the  people's  god.  Nicolle,  my 
stable-man,  was  to  put  a  ladder  by  which  we  can  get 
into  the  ha}*-loft  through  a  window,  and  find  a  place 
where  we  can  see  and  hear  all  that  goes  on.  A  veillee 
is  worth  the  trouble,  believe  me.  Come  ;  it  is  n't  the 
first  time  I  've  hidden  in  the  hay  to  hear  the  tale  of  a 
soldier  or  some  peasant  3*arn.  But  we  must  hide  ;  if 
these  poor  people  see  a  stranger  the}*  are  constrained 
at  once,  and  are  no  longer  their  natural  selves." 

"Eh!   my  dear  host,"  said   Genestas,   "haven't  I 


184  The  Country  Doctor. 

often  pretended  to  sleep,  that  I  might  listen  to  my 
troopers  round  a  bivouac  ?  I  never  laughed  more 
heartily  in  the  Paris  theatres  than  I  did  at  an  account 
of  the  retreat  from  Moscow,  told  in  fun,  by  an  old  ser- 
geant to  a  lot  of  recruits  who  were  afraid  of  war.  He 
declared  the  French  army  slept  in  sheets,  and  drank  its 
wine  well-iced ;  that  the  dead  stood  still  in  the  roads  ; 
Russia  was  white ;  they  curried  the  horses  with  their 
teeth;  those  who  liked  to  skate  had  lots  of  fun,  and 
those  who  fancied  frozen  puddings  ate  their  fill ;  the 
women  were  usually  cold,  and  the  onry  thing  that  was 
really  disagreeable  was  the  want  of  hot  water  to  shave 
with  ;  in  short,  he  recounted  such  absurdities  that  an  old 
quartermaster,  who  had  had  his  nose  frozen  off  and  was 
known  by  the  name  of  Nez-restant,  laughed  himself." 

"  Hush,"  said  Benassis,  "  here  we  are  ;  I  '11  go  first ; 
follow  me." 

The  pair  mounted  the  ladder  and  crouched  in  the  hay, 
without  being  seen  or  heard  by  the  people  below,  and 
placed  themselves  at  ease,  so  that  they  could  see  and 
hear  all  that  went  on.  The  women  were  sitting  in  groups 
round  the  three  or  four  candles  that  stood  on  the  tables. 
Some  were  sewing,  some  knitting  ;  several  sat  idle,  their 
necks  stretched  out  and  their  heads  and  e}"es  turned  to 
an  old  peasant  who  was  telling  a  story.  Most  of  the 
men  were  standing,  or  lying  on  bales  of  hay.  These 
groups,  all  perfectly  silent,  were  scarcely  visible  in  the 
flickering  glimmer  of  the  tallow-candles  encircled  by 
glass  bowls  full  of  water,  which  concentrated  the  light 
in  raj's  upon  the  women  at  work  about  the  tables.  The 
size  of  the  barn,  whose  roof  was  dark  and  sombre,  still 
further  obscured  the  rays  of  light,  which  touched  the 


The  Country  Doctor.  185 

heads  with  unequal  color,  and  brought  out  picturesque 
effects  of  light  and  shade.  Here,  the  brown  forehead 
and  the  clear  eyes  of  an  eager  little  peasant-girl  shone 
forth ;  there,  the  rough  brows  of  a  few  old  men  were 
sharply  defined  by  a  luminous  band,  which  made  fan- 
tastic shapes  of  their  worn  and  discolored  garments. 
These  various  listeners,  so  diverse  in  their  attitudes,  all 
expressed  on  their  motionless  features  the  absolute 
abandonment  of  their  intelligence  to  the  narrator.  It 
was  a  curious  picture,  illustrating  the  enormous  influ- 
ence exercised  over  every  class  of  mind  by  poetry.  In 
exacting  from  a  story-teller  the  marvellous  that  must 
still  be  simple,  or  the  impossible  that  is  almost  believ- 
able, the  peasant  proves  himself  to  be  a  true  lover  of 
the  purest  poetry. 

"Though  the  house  had  an  evil  look,"  the  peasant 
was  saying  as  the  new  listeners  settled  themselves  in 
the  hay,  "that  poor  hunchbacked  woman  was  so  tired 
after  carrying  her  hemp  to  market  that  she  went  in ; 
besides,  night  was  coming  on.  She  asked  for  nothing 
but  a  place  to  sleep  in  ;  as  for  food,  she  pulled  a  crust 
out  of  her  wallet  and  ate  it.  So  then,  the  woman  of 
the  house,  who  was  the  wife  of  the  brigands,  not  know- 
ing what  they  had  agreed  to  do  that  night,  welcomed 
the  hunchback  and  put  her  in  an  upper  room  without  a 
light.  The  poor  thing  threw  herself  on  a  miserable 
pallet,  said  her  prayers,  thought  about  her  hemp,  and 
began  to  go  to  sleep  ;  but  before  she  was  fairly  off,  she 
heard  a  noise,  and  saw  two  men  come  in  with  a  lantern  ; 
each  of  them  held  a  knife.  She  was  seized  with  fear, 
because,  don't  you  see,  the  great  lords  liked  patties 
made  of  human  flesh,  and  in  those  days  people  made 


186  The  Country  Doctor. 

them  for  them.  But  the  old  woman's  skin  was  as  hard 
as  horn,  and  she  comforted  herself  by  thinking  that 
they'd  know  she  was  bad  eating.  The  two  men  passed 
the  hunchback  and  went  to  a  bed  that  stood  in  the  great 
attic,  and  in  which  the}'  had  put  the  gentleman  with 
the  big  valise,  who  was  supposed  to  be  a  necromancer. 
The  tallest  of  the  two  men  raised  the  lantern,  and  took 
the  gentleman  by  the  feet;  then  the  shortest  —  he  that 
had  pretended  drunk  —  la}'  hold  of  his  head,  and  cut  it 
off  in  a  twinkling,  with  one  blow,  —  crack  !  Then  they 
left  the  head  and  the  body  lying  there  all  in  the  blood, 
and  stole  the  valise,  and  went  away.  Now  here  's  the 
old  woman  in  a  fine  quandary  what  to  do.  First  she 
thought  of  getting  away  without  being  seen,  not  know- 
ing as  yet  that  Providence  had  put  her  there  for  the 
glory  of  God  and  the  punishment  of  the  crime.  She 
was  afraid,  and  when  people  are  afraid  they  don't 
trouble  themselves  about  other  things.  But  the  woman 
of  the  house  frightened  the  brigands  by  asking  about  the 
hunchback,  and  so  the}*-  came  softl}'  back,  up  the  little 
wooden  staircase.  The  poor  creature  crouched  in  a 
heap  with  fear,  and  heard  them  disputing  in  a  low 
voice:  'I  tell  you  to  kill  her.'  'We  mustn't  kill 
her.'  '  Kill  her,  I  sa}r.'  '  No  ! '  The  old  woman,  who 
was  n't  a  fool,  shut  up  her  eyes  and  pretended  to  sleep. 
She  lay  like  an  infant,  with  her  hand  on  her  heart,  and 
breathing  as  easy  as  a  cherub.  The  man  that  held  the 
lantern  opened  the  slide  and  flashed  the  light  on  the 
eyes  of  the  old  woman  ;  but  she  never  winked,  for  she 
was  afraid  of  her  life.  '  Don't  you  see  she  sleeps  like 
a  dormouse?'  says  the  tall  one.  'Old  women  are  so 
sly,'  answers  the  short  one  ;  '  I  shall  kill  her,  and  then 


The  Country  Doctor.  187 

we  '11  be  easy.  We  can  salt  her,  and  feed  her  to  the 
pigs.'  Though  she  heard  every  word  of  this,  the  old 
hunchback  never  stirred.  '  Well,  well,  she  really  is 
asleep,'  said  the  short  bully,  seeing  that  she  did  n't 
budge.  That's  how  she  saved  her  life.  And  you  may 
well  say  she  was  courageous.  There  's  not  many  young 
girls  here  that  would  breathe  like  the  cherubim  if  they 
heard  talk  of  pigs.  The  two  brigands  then  began  to 
cany  away  the  dead  man.  They  rolled  him  up  in  a 
sheet  and  flung  him  into  the  courtyard ;  and  the  old 
hunchback  heard  the  pigs  grunting  '  hon,  hon  ! '  and 
hustling  about  to  eat  him. 

"  So  then,  the  next  daj-,"  resumed  the  narrator,  after 
a  pause,  "  the  hunchback  left  the  house,  after  paying 
two  sous  for  her  lodging.  She  took  her  wallet,  be- 
haved as  if  nothing  had  happened,  asked  the  news  of 
the  neighborhood,  went  out  quietly,  and  then,  you  may 
think  she  ran  away.  Not  at  all ;  fear  clogged  her  legs, 
—  but  to  her  great  good  luck,  as  you  shall  see.  She 
had  n't  gone  half  a  mile  when  she  saw  one  of  the  brig- 
ands following  her,  to  spy  if  she  really  had  seen  noth- 
ing. She  guessed  what  he  was  after,  and  sat  down  on 
a  stone.  '  What 's  the  matter,  my  good  woman  ? '  said 
the  short  brigand,  —  for  it  was  the  short  one,  the  worst 
of  the  two,  that  was  after  her.  '  Ah,  my  good  man,' 
she  answered,  '  my  wallet  is  so  heavy,  and  I  'm  so 
tired ;  I  do  want  the  arm  of  an  honest  man  to  get 
home  on '  (j-ou  see  she  was  a  sly  one).  So  then  the  brig- 
and offered  to  accompan}^  her.  She  accepted.  The 
man  took  her  arm  in  his  to  see  if  she  was  afraid.  Hey  ! 
the  woman  did  n't  tremble  a  bit,  and  walked  along  quite 
at  her  ease.     So  there  they  were,  talking  agriculture  and 


188  The  Country  Doctor. 

the  best  way  to  grow  hemp,  till  they  got  to  the  en- 
trance of  the  town  where  the  hunchback  lived,  and 
then  the  brigand  left  her,  for  fear  of  meeting  some  one 
who  would  bring  him  to  justice.  The  woman  got  home 
at  noon,  and  thought  over  all  the  events  of  her  journey, 
and  of  the  night  before,  while  waiting  for  her  husband. 
The  hemp-grower  came  home  towards  evening.  He 
was  hungry  and  wanted  food.  While  she  was  greas- 
ing her  pan  to  fry  him  something,  she  told  how  she 
had  sold  the  hemp,  and  went  on  gossiping,  woman- 
fashion  ;  but  she  didn't  say  a  word  about  the  pigs,  or 
the  gentleman  who  was  robbed  and  murdered  and  eaten. 
She  fired  her  greasy  pan,  so  as  to  clean  it ;  but  when 
she  came  to  wipe  it,  it  was  full  of  blood.  '  What  did 
you  put  into  it? '  she  says  to  her  husband.  '  Nothing,' 
he  answers.  She  thought  she  must  have  got  some 
woman's  crotchet  in  her  head,  so  she  put  the  pan  back 
on  the  fire.  Behold !  down  came  a  head  through  the 
chimne}r.  '  Just  look  at  that ! '  said  the  old  woman  ; 
4  if  it  is  n't  the  very  head  of  the  dead  man.  Goodness  ! 
how  he  looks  at  me.  What  can  he  want?'  '  That  you 
avenge  me  ! '  said  a  voice.  '  What  a  fool  3-011  are  ! ' 
said  the  hemp-grower ;  'you're  as  blind  as  a  mole,  and 
you  haven't  got  common-sense.  With  that  he  takes 
the  head,  which  bit  his  fingers,  and  flung  it  into  the 
3Tard.  '  Make  me  an  omelet,'  he  said,  '  and  don't  you 
worry  about  that ;  it 's  a  cat.'  '  A  cat ! '  she  cried  ; 
4  why,  it  was  as  round  as  a  ball.'  She  put  her  frying- 
pan  on  the  fire  and,  lo  and  behold !  down  came  a  leg. 
Same  thing  over  again.  The  man,  who  was  n't  any 
more  surprised  to  see  the  leg  than  he  had  been  to  see 
the  head,  laid  hold  of  it  and  threw  it  into  the  yard- 


The  Country  Doctor.  189 

To  cut  a  long  stoiy  short,  the  other  leg,  two  arms,  the 
body,  and   the  whole  of  the  murdered  traveller  came 
down  the  chimney,  one  after  the  other.     No  omelet,  of 
course.     The  old  hemp-man  got  very  hungry.     '  By  the 
powers  above  ! '  said  he,  '  if  m}r  omelet  is  n't  made,  I'll 
find  a  waj^  of  settling  that  man.'     '  Then  you  do  admit 
it  is  a  man  ? '  said  the  hunchback.     '  Wiry  did  }Tou  stand 
me  out  just  now  that  it  was  n't  a  head,  }x>u  great  plague, 
you  ? '     The  old  woman  broke  the  eggs  and  fried  the 
omelet,  and  served  it  without  any  further  grumbling, 
for  the  squabble  made  her  rather  uneasy.     The  hus- 
band sat  down  and  began  to  eat.     The  hunchback,  who 
was  frightened,  said  she  was  n't  hungiy.    Tap,  tap  !  came 
a  knock  on  the  door.     '  Come,'  said  the  hemp-grower. 
In  walked  the  dead  traveller,  who  sat  down  on  a  stool, 
and  said  :  '  Remember  God,  who  gives  eternal  peace  to 
those  who  believe  in  His  name !     Woman,  thou  didst 
see  me  put  to  death,  and  thou  hast  said  nothing !     I 
have  been  eaten  by  hogs  !     Hogs  cannot  enter  paradise. 
Therefore  I,  who  am  a  Christian,  must  go  to  hell,  be- 
cause a  woman  holds  her  tongue.     Such  a  thing  was 
never  known  before.     Thou  must  deliver  me,'  —  and 
much  more  such  talk.    The  hunchback,  who  was  getting 
more  and  more  frightened,  cleaned  up  her  ftying-pan, 
put  on  her  Sunday  clothes,  and  went  and  told  the  truth 
to  the  justice ;    so  the  crime  was   found  out,   and  the 
robbers  were  very  properly  broken  on  the  wheel  in  the 
market-place.     After   this   the    couple   had    what   was 
much  more  agreeable  to  them,  to  wit,   a  male   child, 
who  became  in  course  of  time  a  king's  baron.     Now 
that 's  the  true  storv  of  the  Courageous  Hunchbacked 
Woman." 


190  The  Country  Doctor. 

"  I  don't  like  such  stories,"  said  the  Fosseuse, 
"  the}'  make  me  dream.  I  prefer  the  adventures  of 
Napoleon." 

"That's  right,"  said  the  game-keeper.  "Come, 
Monsieur  Goguelat,  tell  us  about  the  Emperor." 

"  The  evening  is  half  over,"  said  the  postman,  "  and 
I  don't  like  to  shorten  the  victories." 

"  Never  mind  ;  go  on  !  You  've  told  them  so  many 
times  we  know  them  all  by  heart ;  but  it  is  always  a 
pleasure  to  hear  them  again." 

"  Yes  !  tell  us  about  the  Emperor,"  cried  many  voices 
together. 

"  Since  }tou  wish  it,"  replied  Goguelat.  "  But  you  '11 
see  it  is  n't  worth  much  when  I  have  to  tell  it  on  the 
double-quick,  charge !  I  'd  rather  tell  about  a  battle. 
Shall  I  tell  about  Champ- Aubert,  where  we  used  up  all 
the  cartridges  and  spitted  the  enem}^  on  our  bayonets  ?  " 

"  No  !  no  !  the  Emperor  !  the  Emperor ! " 

The  veteran  rose  from  his  bale  of  hay  and  cast  upon 
the  assemblage  that  black  look  laden  with  miseries, 
emergencies,  and  sufferings,  which  distinguishes  the 
faces  of  old  soldiers.  He  seized  his  jacket  bj'  the  two 
front  flaps,  raised  them  as  if  about  to  pack  the  knap- 
sack which  formerly  held  his  clothes,  his  shoes,  and  all 
his  fortune  ;  then  he  threw  the  weight  of  his  bod}'  on 
his  left  leg,  advanced  the  right,  and  yielded  with  a  good 
grace  to  the  demands  of  the  company.  After  pushing 
his  gray  hair  to  one  side  to  show  his  forehead,  he  raised 
his  head  towards  heaven  that  he  might,  as  it  were,  put 
himself  on  the  level  of  the  gigantic  history  he  was  about 
to  relate. 

"  You  see,  nry  friends,  Napoleon  was  born  in  Cor- 


The  Country  Doctor.  191 

sica,  a  French  island,  warmed  b}^  the  sun  of  Italy, 
where  it  is  like  a  furnace,  and  where  the  people  kill 
each  other,  from  father  to  son,  all  about  nothing  :  that's 
a  way  they  have.  To  begin  with  the  marvel  of  the 
thing,  —  his  mother,  who  was  the  handsomest  woman  of 
her  time,  and  a  knowing  one,  bethought  herself  of  dedi- 
cating him  to  God,  so  that  he  might  escape  the  dangers 
of  his  childhood  and  future  life  ;  for  she  had  dreamed  that 
the  world  was  set  on  fire  the  day  he  was  born.  And 
indeed  it  was  a  prophecy  !  So  she  asked  God  to  protect 
him,  on  condition  that  Napoleon  should  restore  His  holy 
religion,  which  was  then  cast  to  the  ground.  Well,  that 
was  agreed  upon,  and  we  shall  see  what  came  of  it. 

"  Follow  me  closely,  and  tell  me  if  what  you  hear  is 
in  the  nature  of  man. 

"  Sure  and  certain  it  is  that  none  but  a  man  who 
conceived  the  idea  of  making  a  compact  with  God 
could  have  passed  unhurt  through  the  enemy's  lines, 
through  cannon-balls,  and  discharges  of  grape-shot  that 
swept  the  rest  of  us  off  like  flies,  and  always  respected 
his  head.  I  had  proof  of  that  —  I  myself — at  Eylau. 
I  see  him  now,  as  he  rode  up  a  height,  took  his  field- 
glass,  looked  at  the  battle,  and  said,  '  All  goes  well.' 
One  of  those  plumed  busy-bodies,  who  plagued  him 
considerably  and  followed  him  ever}' where,  even  to  his 
meals,  so  the}^  said,  thought  to  play  the  wag,  and 
took  the  Emperor's  place  as  he  rode  away.  Ho  !  in  a 
twinkling,  head  and  plume  were  off!  You  must  under- 
stand that  Napoleon  had  promised  to  keep  the  secret  of 
his  compact  all  to  himself.  That 's  why  all  those  who 
followed  him,  even  his  nearest  friends,  fell  like  nuts,  — 
Duroc,  Bessieres,  Lannes,  —  all  strong  as  steel  bars, 


192  The  Country  Doctor. 

though  he  could  bend  them  as  he  pleased.  Besides,  — 
to  prove  he  was  the  child  of  God,  and  made  to  be  the 
father  of  soldiers,  —  was  he  ever  known  to  be  lieutenant 
or  captain?  no,  no;  commander-in-chief  from  the  start. 
He  did  n't  look  to  be  more  than  twenty-four  years  of 
age  when  he  was  an  old  general  at  the  taking  of  Tou- 
lon, where  he  first  began  to  show  the  others  that  the}* 
knew  nothing  about  manoeuvring  cannon. 

"  After  that,  down  came  our  slip  of  a  general  to  com- 
mand the  grand  army  of  Italy,  which  had  n't  bread,  nor 
munitions,  nor  shoes,  nor  coats,  — a  poor  army,  as  naked 
as  a  worm.  'My-  friends,'  said  he,  '  here  we  are  together. 
Get  it  into  your  pates  that  fifteen  days  from  now  you 
will  be  conquerors, — new  clothes,  good  gaiters,  famous 
shoes,  and  ever}-  man  with  a  great-coat ;  but,  my  children, 
to  get  these  things  you  must  march  to  Milan  where  they 
are.'  And  we  marched.  France,  crushed  as  flat  as  a 
bed-bug,  straightened  up.  We  were  thirty  thousand 
bare-feet  against  eight}7  thousand  Austrian  bullies,  all 
fine  men,  well  set-up.  I  see  'em  now  !  But  Napoleon 
—  he  was  then  only  Bonaparte  —  he  knew  how  to  put 
the  courage  into  us !  We  marched  by  night,  and 
we  marched  by  day ;  we  slapped  their  faces  at  Monte- 
notte,  we  thrashed  them  at  Rivoli,  Lodi,  Arcole,  Mil- 
lesimo,  and  we  never  let  'em  up.  A  soldier  gets  the 
taste  of  conquest.  So  Napoleon  whirled  round  those 
Austrian  generals,  who  did  n't  know  where  to  poke 
themselves  to  get  out  of  his  way,  and  he  pelted  'em 
well,  —  nipped  off  ten  thousand  men  at  a  blow  some- 
times, by  getting  round  them  with  fifteen  hundred 
Frenchmen,  and  then  he  gleaned  as  he  pleased.  He 
took  their  cannon,  their  supplies,  their  money,   their 


The  Country  Doctor.  193 

munitions,  in  short,  all  they  had  that  was  good  to  take. 
He  fought  them  and  beat  them  on  the  mountains,  he 
drove  them  into  the  rivers  and  seas,  he  bit  'em  in  the 
air,  he  devoured  'em  on  the  ground,  and  he  lashed  'em 
everywhere.  Hey !  the  grand  army  feathered  itself 
well;  for,  d'ye  see,  the  Emperor,  who  was  also  a  wit, 
called  up  the  inhabitants  and  told  them  he  was  there  to 
deliver  them.  So  after  that  the  natives  lodged  and 
cherished  us ;  the  women  too,  and  very  judicious  they 
were.  Now  here's  the  end  of  it.  In  Ventose,  '96,  — 
in  those  times  that  was  the  month  of  March  of  to-day, 
—  we  lay  cuddled  in  a  corner  of  Savoie  with  the  mar- 
mots ;  and  yet,  before  that  campaign  was  over,  we  were 
masters  of  Italy,  just  as  Napoleon  had  predicted  ;  and 
b}7  the  followiag  March  —  in  a  single  year  and  two  cam- 
paigns—  he  had  brought  us  within  sight  of  Vienna. 
'T  was  a  clean  sweep.  We  devoured  their  armies,  one 
after  the  other,  and  made  an  end  of  four  Austrian 
generals.  One  old  fellow,  with  white  hair,  was  roasted 
like  a  rat  in  the  straw  at  Mantua.  Kings  begged  for 
mercy  on  their  knees  !     Peace  was  won. 

"  Could  a  man  have  done  that?  No;  God  helped 
him,  to  a  certainty ! 

"  He  divided  himself  up  like  the  loaves  in  the  Gos- 
pel, commanded  the  battle  by  day,  planned  it  by  night ; 
going  and  coming,  for  the  sentinels  saw  him,  —  never 
eating,  never  sleeping.  So,  seeing  these  prodigies,  the 
soldiers  adopted  him  for  their  father.  Forward,  march  ! 
Then  those  others,  the  rulers  in  Paris,  seeing  this,  said 
to  themselves  :  '  Here  's  a  bold  one  that  seems  to  .get 
his  orders  from  the  skies ;  he 's  likely  to  put  his  paw  on 
France.     We  must  let  him  loose  on  Asia  ;  we  will  send 

13 


194  The  Country  Doctor. 

him  to  America,  perhaps  that  will  satisfy  him.'  But 
't  was  written  above  for  him,  as  it  was  for  Jesus  Christ. 
The  command  went  forth  that  he  should  go  to  Egj-pt. 
See,  again,  his  resemblance  to  the  Son  of  God.  But 
that 's  not  all.  He  called  together  his  best  veterans, 
his  fire-eaters,  the  ones  he  had  particularly  put  the 
devil  into,  and  he  said  to  them  like  this  :  '  My  friends, 
they  have  given  us  Egypt  to  chew  up,  just  to  keep  us 
bus}r,  but  we  '11  swallow  it  whole  in  a  couple  of  cam- 
paigns, as  we  did  Italy.  The  common  soldiers  shall  be 
princes  and  have  the  laud  for  their  own.  Forward, 
march  !  '  '  Forward,  march  ! '  cried  the  sergeants,  and 
there  we  were  at  Toulon,  road  to  Eg}pt.  At  that  time 
the  English  had  all  their  ships  in  the  sea  ;  but  when  we 
embarked.  Napoleon  said,  k  They  won't  see  us.  It  is 
just  as  well  that  you  should  know  from  this  time  forth 
that  your  general  has  got  his  star  in  the  sky,  which 
guides  and  protects  us.'  What  was  said  was  done. 
Passing  over  the  sea,  we  took  Malta  like  an  orange, 
just  to  quench  his  thirst  for  victory  ;  for  he  was  a  man 
who  could  n't  live  and  do  nothing. 

"  So  here  we  are  in  Egypt.  Good.  Once  here,  other 
orders.  The  Eg3'ptians,  d'  ye  see,  are  men  who,  ever 
since  the  earth  was,  have  had  giants  for  sovereigns,  and 
armies  as  numerous  as  ants ;  for,  }ou  must  understand, 
that 's  the  land  of  genii  and  crocodiles,  where  they  've 
built  pyramids  as  big  as  our  mountains,  and  buried  their 
kings  under  them  to  keep  them  fresh,  —  an  idea  that 
pleased  'em  mightily.  So  then,  after  we  disembarked, 
the  Little  Corporal  said  to  us,  '  My  children,  the  coun- 
ty you  are  going  to  conquer  has  a  lot  of  gods  that  you 
must  respect ;  because  Frenchmen  ought  to  be  friends 


The  Country  Doctor.  195 

with  everybody,  and  fight  the  nations  without  vexing 
the  inhabitants.  Get  it  into  your  skulls  that  you  are 
not  to  touch  anything  at  first,  for  it  is  all  going  to  be 
yours  soon.  Forward,  march  !  '  So  far,  so  good.  But 
all  those  people  of  Africa,  to  whom  Napoleon  was  fore- 
told under  the  name  of  Kebir-Bonaberdis,  —  a  word  of 
their  lingo  that  means  '  the  sultan  fires,'  —  were  afraid 
as  the  devil  of  him.  So  the  Grand-Turk,  and  Asia,  and 
Africa,  had  recourse  to  magic.  They  sent  us  a  demon, 
named  the  Mahdi,  supposed  to  have  descended  from 
heaven  on  a  white  horse,  which,  like  its  master,  was 
bullet-proof;  and  both  of  them  lived  on  air,  without  food 
to  support  them.  There  are  some  that  say  the}*  saw 
them  ;  but  I  can't  give  you  any  reasons  to  make  you 
certain  about  that.  The  rulers  of  Arabia  and  the 
Mamelukes  tried  to  make  their  troopers  believe  that  the 
Mahdi  could  keep  them  from  perishing  in  battle  ;  and 
they  pretended  he  was  an  angel  sent  from  heaven  to 
fight  Napoleon  and  get  back  Solomon's  seal.  Solomon's 
seal  was  part  of  their  paraphernalia  which  the}T  vowed 
our  general  had  stolen.  You  must  understand  that  we  'd 
given  'em  a  good  many  wry  faces,  in  spite  of  what  he 
had  said  to  us. 

"Now,  tell  me  how  they  knew  that  Napoleon  had  a 
pact  with  God  ?     Was  that  natural,  d'  ye  think  ? 

' '  They  held  to  it  in  their  minds  that  Napoleon  com- 
manded the  genii,  and  could  pass  hither  and  thither  in 
the  twinkling  of  an  e3*e,  like  a  bird.  The  fact  is,  he 
was  eveiy where.  At  last,  it  came  to  his  carrying  off  a 
queen,  beautiful  as  the  dawn,  for  whom  he  had  offered 
all  his  treasure,  and  diamonds  as  big  as  pigeon's  eggs,  — 
a  bargain  which  the  Mameluke    to  whom  she  partial- 


196  The  Country  Doctor. 

larly  belonged  positively  refused,  although  he  had  sev- 
eral others.  Such  matters,  when  they  come  to  that  pass, 
can't  be  settled  without  a  great  many  battles ;  and, 
indeed,  there  was  no  scarcit}7  of  battles ;  there  was 
fighting  enough  to  please  everybod}\  We  were  in  line 
at  Alexandria,  at  Gizeh,  and  before  the  Pj'ramids  ;  we 
marched  in  the  sun  and  through  the  sand,  where  some, 
who  had  the  dazzles,  saw  water  that  they  could  n't 
drink,  and  shade  where  their  flesh  was  roasted.  But 
we  made  short  work  of  the  Mamelukes  ;  and  everybody 
else  yielded  at  the  voice  of  Napoleon,  who  took  pos- 
session of  Upper  and  Lower  Egypt,  Arabia,  and  even 
the  capitals  of  kingdoms  that  were  no  more,  where 
there  were  thousand  of  statues  and  all  the  plagues  of 
Egypt,  more  particularly  lizards,  —  a  mammoth  of  a 
country  where  everybody  could  take  his  acres  of  land 
for  as  little  as  he  pleased.  Well,  while  Napoleon  was 
busy  with  his  affairs  inland,  — where  he  had  it  in  his 
head  to  do  fine  things,  —  the  English  burned  his  fleet 
at  Aboukir ;  for  the}'  were  always  looking  about  them 
to  annoy  us.  But  Napoleon,  who  had  the  respect  of 
the  East  and  of  the  West,  whom  the  Pope  called  his 
son,  and  the  cousin  of  Mohammed  called  4  his  dear 
father,'  resolved  to  punish  England,  and  get  hold  of 
India  in  exchange  for  his  fleet.  He  was  just  about  to 
take  us  across  the  Red  Sea  into  Asia,  a  country  where 
there  are  diamonds  and  gold  to  pay  the  soldiers  and 
palaces  for  bivouacs,  when  the  Mahdi  made  a  treaty 
with  the  Plague,  and  sent  it  down  to  hinder  our  victo- 
ries. Halt !  The  army  to  a  man  defiled  at  that  parade  ; 
and  few  they  were  who  came  back  on  their  feet.  Dying 
soldiers  could  n't  take  Saint- Jean  d'Acre,  though  they 


The  Country  Doctor.  197 

rushed  at  it  three  times  with  generous  and  martial 
obstinac3'.  The  Plague  was  the  strongest.  No  sa}'ing 
to  that  enemy,  '  M}'  good  friend.'  Every  soldier  lay 
ill.  Napoleon  alone  was  fresh  as  a  rose,  and  the  whole 
army  saw  him  drinking  in  pestilence  without  its  doing 
him  a  bit  of  harm. 

"  Ha  !  my  friends  !  will  you  tell  me  that  that's  in  the 
nature  of  a  mere  man  ? 

"  The  Mamelukes,  knowing  we  were  all  in  the  ambu- 
lances, thought  they  could  stop  the  wa}* ;  but  that  sort 
of  joke  would  n't  do  with  Napoleon.  So  he  said  to  his 
demons,  his  veterans,  those  that  had  the  toughest  hide, 
'  Go,  clear  me  the  way.'  Junot,  a  sabre  of  the  first  cut, 
and  his  particular  friend,  took  a  thousand  men,  no 
more,  and  ripped  up  the  army  of  the  pacha  who  had 
had  the  presumption  to  put  himself  in  the  way.  After 
that,  we  came  back  to  headquarters  at  Cairo.  Now, 
here 's  another  side  of  the  stor}T.  Napoleon  absent, 
France  was  letting  herself  be  ruined  by  the  rulers  in 
Paris,  who  kept  back  the  pay  of  the  soldiers  of  the 
other  armies,  and  their  clothing,  and  their  rations ; 
left  them  to  die  of  hunger,  and  expected  them  to  la}T 
down  the  law  to  the  universe  without  taking  any  trouble 
to  help  them.  Idiots  !  who  amused  themselves  03-  chat- 
tering, instead  of  putting  their  own  hands  in  the  dough. 
Well,  that 's  how  it  happened  that  our  armies  were 
beaten,  and  the  frontiers  of  France  were  encroached 
upon :  The  Man  was  not  there.  Now  observe,  I  say 
man  because  that 's  what  they  called  him ;  but  't  was 
nonsense,  for  he  had  a  star  and  all  its  belongings  ;  it 
was  we  who  were  only  men.  He  taught  history  to 
France  after  his  famous  battle  of  Aboukir,  where,  with- 


198  The  Country  Doctor. 

out  losing  more  than  three  hundred  men,  and  with  a 
single  division,  he  vanquished  the  grand  arm}7  of  the 
Turk,  seventy-five  thousand  strong,  and  hustled  more 
than  half  of  it  into  the  sea,  r-r-rah  ! 

"  That  was  his  last  thunder-clap  in  Egypt.  He  said 
to  himself,  seeing  the  way  things  were  going  in  Paris, 
'  I  am  the  saviour  of  France.  I  know  it,  and  I  must 
go.'  But,  understand  me,  the  army  didn't  know  he 
was  going,  or  they  'd  have  kept  him  by  force  and  made 
him  Emperor  of  the  East.  So  now  we  wrere  sad ;  for 
He  was  gone  who  was  all  our  joy.  He  left  the  com- 
mand to  Kleber,  a  big  mastiff,  who  came  off  duty  at 
Cairo,  assassinated  by  an  Egyptian,  whom  they  put  to 
death  by  empaling  him  on  a  bayonet ;  that 's  the  way 
they  guillotine  people  down  there.  But  it  makes  'em 
suffer  so  much  that  a  soldier  had  pit}'  on  the  criminal 
and  gave  him  his  canteen ;  and  then,  as  soon  as  the 
Egyptian  had  drunk  his  fill,  he  gave  up  the  ghost  with 
all  the  pleasure  in  life.  But  that's  a  trifle  we  could  n't 
laugh  at  then.  Napoleon  embarked  in  a  cockleshell,  a 
little  skiff  that  was  nothing  at  all,  though  't  was  called 
1  Fortune  ; '  and  in  a  twinkling,  under  the  nose  of  Eng- 
land, who  was  blockading  him  with  ships  of  the  line, 
frigates,  and  anything  that  could  hoist  a  sail,  he  crossed 
over,  and  there  he  was  in  France.  For  he  always  had 
the  power,  mind  you,  of  crossing  the  seas  at  one 
straddle. 

"  Was  that  a  human  man?     Bah  ! 

"  So,  one  minute  he  is  at  Frejus,  the  next  in  Paris. 
There,  they  all  adore  him  ;  but  he  summons  the  govern- 
ment. fc  What  have  you  done  with  my  children,  the 
soldiers?'  he  says  to  the  lawyers.     'You're  a  mob  of 


The  Country  Doctor.  199 

rascally  scribblers  ;  }'ou  are  making  France  a  mess  of 
pottage,  and  snapping  your  fingers  at  what  people  think 
of  you.  It  won't  do  ;  and  I  speak  the  opinion  of  ever}T- 
body.'  So,  on  that,  they  wanted  to  battle  with  him 
and  kill  him  —  click  !  he  had  'em  locked  up  in  barracks, 
or  flying  out  of  windows,  or  drafted  among  his  fol- 
lowers, where  they  were  as  mute  as  fishes,  and  as  pli- 
able as  a  quid  of  tobacco.  After  that  stroke  —  consul ! 
And  then,  as  it  was  not  for  him  to  doubt  the  Supreme 
Being,  he  fulfilled  his  promise  to  the  good  God,  who, 
you  see,  had  kept  His  word  to  him.  He  gave  Him  back 
his  churches,  and  re-established  His  religion ;  the  bells 
rang  for  God  and  for  him :  and  lo !  everybody  was 
pleased ;  pri?no,  the  priests,  whom  he  saved  from  be- 
ing harassed ;  secundo,  the  bourgeois,  who  thought 
only  of  their  trade,  and  no  longer  had  to  fear  the  ra- 
piamus  of  the  law,  which  had  got  to  be  unjust ;  tertio, 
the  nobles,  for  he  forbade  they  should  be  killed,  as, 
unfortunately,  the  people  had  got  the  habit  of  doing. 

"But  he  still  had  the  Enemy  to  wipe  out;  and  he 
wasn't  the  man  to  go  to  sleep  at  a  mess-table,  because, 
d'3Te  see,  his  e}e  looked  over  the  whole  earth  as  if  it 
were  no  bigger  than  a  man's  head.  So  then  he  ap- 
peared in  Italy,  like  as  though  he  had  stuck  his  head 
through  the  window.  One  glance  was  enough.  The 
Austrians  were  swallowed  up  at  Marengo  like  so  man}' 
gudgeons  by  a  whale  !  Ouf !  The  French  eagles  sang 
their  pagans  so  loud  that  all  the  world  heard  them  — 
and  it  sufficed  !  '  We  won't  play  that  game  any  more,' 
said  the  German.  '  Enough,  enough !  '  said  all  the 
rest.  To  sum  up:  Europe  backed  down,  England 
knocked    under.     General  peace ;    and   the  kings  and 


200  The  Country  Doctor. 

the  peoples  made  believe  kiss  each  other.  That 's  the 
time  when  the  Emperor  invented  the  Legion  of  honor  — 
and  a  fine  thing,  too.  '  In  France  '  —  this  is  what  he 
said  at  Boulogne  before  the  whole  array  —  '  eveiy  man 
is  brave.  So  the  citizen  who  does  a  fine  action  shall 
be  sister  to  the  soldier,  and  the  soldier  shall  be  his 
brother,  and  the  two  shall  be  one  under  the  flag  of 
honor.' 

"  We,  who  were  down  in  Egypt,  now  came  home. 
All  was  changed !  He  left  us  general,  and  he}" !  in  a 
twinkling  we  found  him  Emperor.  France  gave  her- 
self to  him,  like  a  fine  girl  to  a  lancer.  When  it 
was  done  —  to  the  satisfaction  of  all,  as  }Tou  may 
say  —  a  sacred  ceremony  took  place,  the  like  of  which 
was  never  seen  under  the  canop}7  of  the  skies.  The 
Pope  and  the  cardinals,  in  their  red  and  gold  vestments, 
crossed  the  Alps  expressly  to  crown  him  before  the 
army  and  the  people,  who  clapped  their  hands.  There 
is  one  thing  that  I  should  do  ver}T  wrong  not  to  tell 
you.  In  Eg}rpt,  in  the  desert  close  to  Syria,  the  Red 
Man  came  to  him  on  the  Mount  of  Moses,  and  said, 
'  All  is  well.'  Then,  at  Marengo,  the  night  before  the 
victory,  the  same  Red  Man  appeared  before  him  for  the 
second  time,  standing  erect  and  saying :  '  Thou  shalt 
see  the  world  at  thy  feet ;  thou  shalt  be  Emperor  of 
France,  King  of  Italy,  master  of  Holland,  sovereign  of 
Spain,  Portugal,  and  the  Illyrian  provinces,  protector 
of  Germany,  saviour  of  Poland,  first  eagle  of  the  Legion 
of  honor  —  all.'  This  Red  Man,  }tou  understand,  was 
his  genius,  his  spirit,  —  a  sort  of  satellite  who  served 
him,  as  some  sa}T,  to  communicate  with  his  star.  I 
never  really  believed  that.     But  the  Red  Man  himself 


The  Country  Doctor.  201 

Is  a  true  fact.  Napoleon  spoke  of  him,  and  said  he 
came  to  him  in  troubled  moments,  and  lived  in  the 
palace  of  the  Tuileries  under  the  roof.  So,  on  the  day 
of  the  coronation,  Napoleon  saw  him  for  the  third  time  ; 
and  they  were  in  consultation  over  many  things. 

"  After  that,  Napoleon  went  to  Milan  to  be  crowned 
king  of  Italy,  and  there  the  grand  triumph  of  the  soldier 
began.  Every  man  who  could  write  was  made  an 
officer.  Down  came  pensions  ;  it  rained  duchies  ;  treas- 
ures poured  in  for  the  staff  which  did  n't  cost  France  a 
pen  ivy ;  and  the  Legion  of  honor  provided  incomes  for 
the  private  soldiers,  — of  which  I  receive  mine  to  this 
da}-.  So  here  were  the  armies  maintained  as  never 
before  on  this  earth.  But  besides  that,  the  Emperor, 
knowing  that  he  was  to  be  the  emperor  of  the  whole 
world,  bethought  him  of  the  bourgeois,  and  to  please 
them  he  built  fairy  monuments,  after  their  own  ideas,  in 
places  where  you'd  never  think  to  find  any.  For  in- 
stance, suppose  you  were  coming  back  from  Spain  and 
going  to  Berlin  —  well,  you  'd  find  triumphal  arches  along 
the  way,  with  common  soldiers  sculptured  on  the  stone, 
every  bit  the  same  as  generals.  In  two  or  three  years, 
and  without  imposing  taxes  on  an}-  of  you,  Napoleon 
filled  his  vaults  with  gold,  built  palaces,  made  bridges, 
roads,  scholars,  fetes,  laws,  vessels,  harbors,  and  spent 
millions  upon  millions,  —  such  enormous  sums  that  he 
could,  so  they  tell  me,  have  paved  France  from  end  to 
end  with  five-franc  pieces,  if  he  had  had  a  mind  to. 

"  Now,  when  he  sat  at  ease  on  his  throne,  and  was 
master  of  all,  so  that  Europe  waited  his  permission  to 
do  his  bidding,  he  remembered  his  four  brothers  and 
his  three  sisters,  and  he  said  to  us,  as  it  might  be  in 


202  The  Country  Doctor. 

conversation,  in  an  order  of  the  day,  c  M3'  children,  is 
it  right  that  the  blood  relations  of  your  Emperor  should 
be  begging  their  bread?  No.  I  wish  to  see  them  in 
splendor  like  myself.  It  becomes,  therefore,  absolutely 
necessary  to  conquer  a  kingdom  for  each  of  them,  —  to 
the  end  that  Frenchmen  may  be  masters  over  all  lands, 
that  the  soldiers  of  the  Guard  shall  make  the  whole 
earth  tremble,  that  France  may  spit  where  she  likes, 
and  that  all  the  nations  shall  sajr  to  her,  as  it  is  written 
on  my  copper  coins, ' '  God  protects  you  !  " '  '  Agreed  !  ' 
cried  the  army.  '  We  '11  go  fish  for  thy  kingdoms  with 
our  bayonets.'  Ha  !  there  was  no  backing  down,  don't 
you  see  !  If  he  had  taken  it  into  his  head  to  conquer 
the  moon,  we  should  have  made  ready,  packed  knap- 
sacks, and  clambered  up;  happily,  he  didn't  think  of 
it.  The  kings  of  the  countries,  who  liked  their  com- 
fortable thrones,  were,  naturahV,  loathe  to  budge,  and 
had  to  have  their  ears  pulled ;  so  then  —  Forward, 
march  !  We  did  march  ;  we  got  there  ;  and  the  earth 
once  more  trembled  to  its  centre.  Hey  !  the  men  and 
the  shoes  he  used  up  in  those  days  !  The  enemy  dealt 
us  such  blows  that  none  but  the  grand  arnry  could  have 
borne  the  fatigue  of  it.  But  you  are  not  ignorant  that 
a  Frenchman  is  born  a  philosopher,  and  knows  that  a 
little  sooner,  or  a  little  later,  he  has  got  to  die.  So 
we  were  ready  to  die  without  a  word,  for  we  liked  to 
see  the  Emperor  doing  that  on  the  geographies." 

Here  the  narrator  nimbi}'  described  a  circle  with  his 
foot  on  the  floor  of  the  barn. 

"And  Napoleon  said,  'There,  that's  to  be  a  king- 
dom.' And  a  kingdom  it  was.  Ha !  the  good  times ! 
The   colonels  were  generals ;   the  generals,   marshals ; 


The  Country  Doctot  20 


a 


and  the  marshals,  kings.  There  's  one  of  'em  still  on 
his  throne,  to  prove  it  to  Europe ;  but  he  's  a  Gascon 
and  a  traitor  to  France  for  keeping  that  crown ;  and 
he  doesn't  blush  for  shame  as  he  ought  to  do,  be- 
cause crowns,  don't  you  see,  are  made  of  gold.  I  who 
am  speakiug  to  }'Ou,  I  have  seen,  in  Paris,  eleven  kings 
and  a  mob  of  princes  surrounding  Napoleon  like  the 
rays  of  the  sun.  You  understand,  of  course,  that  every 
soldier  had  the  chance  to  mount  a  throne,  provided 
alwa3Ts  he  had  the  merit ;  so  a  corporal  of  the  Guard 
was  a  sight  to  be  looked  at  as  he  walked  along,  for  each 
man  had  his  share  in  the  victoiy,  and  't  was  plainly  set 
forth  in  the  bulletin.  What  victories  they  were  !  Aus- 
terlitz,  where  the  army  manoeuvred  as  if  on  parade ; 
Eylau,  where  we  drowned  the  Russians  in  a  lake,  as 
though  Napoleon  had  blown  them  into  it  wTith  the  breath 
of  his  mouth  ;  Wagram,  where  the  army  fought  for  three 
days  without  grumbling.  We  won  as  man}'  battles  as 
there  are  saints  in  the  calendar.  It  was  proved  then  be- 
yond a  doubt,  that  Napoleon  had  the  sword  of  God  in 
his  scabbard.  The  soldiers  were  his  friends ;  he  made 
them  his  children ;  he  looked  after  us,  he  saw  that  we 
had  shoes,  and  shirts,  and  great-coats,  and  bread,  and 
cartridges ;  but  he  alwa}rs  kept  up  his  majesty ;  for, 
don't  you  see,  't  was  his  business  to  reign.  No  matter 
for  that,  however ;  a  sergeant,  and  even  a  common  sol- 
dier, could  sa}r  to  him, '  my  Emperor,'  just  as  3-ou  sajT  to 
me  sometimes,  '  nry  good  friend.'  He  gave  us  an  an- 
swer if  we  appealed  to  him  ;  he  slept  in  the  snow  like 
the  rest  of  us  ;  and,  indeed,  he  had  almost  the  air  of  a 
human  man.  I  who  speak  to  you,  I  have  seen  him 
with  his  feet  among  the  grapeshot,  and  no  more  uneasy 


204  The  Country  Doctor. 

than  you  are  now,  —  standing  stead}T,  looking  through 
his  field-glass,  and  minding  his  business.  'T  was  that 
kept  the  rest  of  us  quiet.  I  don't  know  how  he  did  it, 
hut  when  he  spoke,  he  made  our  hearts  burn  within  us  ; 
and  to  show  him  we  were  his  children,  incapable  of 
balking,  did  n't  we  rush  at  the  mouths  of  the  rascally 
cannon,  that  belched  and  vomited  shot  and  shell  with- 
out so  much  as  saying,  4  Look  out ! '  Why  !  the  dying 
must  needs  raise  their  heads  to  salute  him  and  cry, 
4  Long  live  the  Emperor  ! ' 

"  I  ask  you,  was  that  natural?  would  they  have  done 
that  for  a  human  man  ? 

"  Well,  after  he  had  settled  the  world,  the  Empress 
Josephine,  his  wife,  a  good  woman  all  the  same,  man- 
aged matters  so  that  she  did  not  bear  him  any  children, 
and  he  was  obliged  to  give  her  up,  though  he  loved  her 
considerably.  But,  you  see,  he  had  to  have  little  ones 
for  reasons  of  state.  Hearing  of  this,  all  the  sover- 
eigns of  Europe  quarrelled  as  to  which  of  them  should 
give  him  a  wife.  And  he  married,  so  the}'  told  us,  an 
Austrian  archduchess,  daughter  of  Caesar,  an  ancient 
man  about  whom  people  talk  a  good  deal,  and  not  in 
France  only,  —  where  any  one  will  tell  you  what  he  did, 
—  but  in  Europe.  It  is  all  true,  for  I  myself  who 
address  you  at  this  moment,  I  have  been  on  the  Danube, 
and  have  seen  the  remains  of  a  bridge  built  by  that 
man,  who,  it  seems,  was  a  relation  of  Napoleon  in 
Rome,  and  that 's  how  the  Emperor  got  the  inheritance 
of  that  city  for  his  son.  So  after  the  marriage,  which 
was  a  fete  for  the  whole  world,  and  in  honor  of  which 
he  released  the  people  of  ten  years'  taxes,  —  which  they 
had  to  pay  all  the  same,  however,  because  the  assessors 


The  Country  Doctor.  205 

didn't  take  account  of  what  he  said,  —  his  wife  had  a 
little  one,  who  was  King  of  Rome.  Now,  there  's  a 
thing  that  had  never  been  seen  on  this  earth ;  never 
before  was  a  child  born  a  king  with  his  father  living. 
On  that  day  a  balloon  went  up  in  Paris  to  tell  the  news 
to  Rome,  and  that  balloon  made  the  journey  in  one 
day  ! 

"  Now,  is  there  any  man  among  yon  who  will  stand 
up  here  and  declare  to  me  that  all  that  was  human? 
No ;  it  was  written  above  ;  and  may  the  scurvy  seize 
'em  who  deny  that  he  was  sent  by  God  himself  for  the 
triumph  of  France ! 

"Well,  here's  the  Emperor  of  Russia,  that  used  to 
be  his  friend,  he  gets  angry  because  Napoleon  did  n't 
many  a  Russian ;  so  he  joins  with  the  English,  our 
enemies,  —  to  whom  our  Emperor  always  wanted  to  say 
a  couple  of  words  in  their  burrows,  only  he  was  pre- 
vented. Napoleon  gets  angry  too ;  an  end  had  to  be 
put  to  such  doings  ;  so  he  says  to  us  :  c  Soldiers  !  you 
have  been  masters  of  every  capital  in  Europe,  except 
Moscow,  which  is  now  the  ally  of  England.  To  con- 
quer England,  and  India  which  belongs  to  the  English, 
it  becomes  our  peremptory  dut}T  to  go  to  Moscow.' 
Then  he  assembled  the  greatest  army  that  ever  trailed 
its  gaiters  over  the  globe  ;  and  so  marvellously  in  hand 
it  was  that  he  reviewed  a  million  of  men  in  one  day. 
1  Hourra  ! '  ]  cried  the  Russians.  Down  came  all  Russia 
and  those  animals  of  Cossacks  in  a  flock.  'T  was  nation 
against  nation,  a  general  hurly-burly,  and  beware  who 
could ;  '  Asia  against  Europe,'  as   the  Red   Man  had 

1  Battle-cry  of  the  Cossacks. 


206  The  Country  Doctor. 

foretold  to  Napoleon.     'Enough/  cried  the  Emperor, 
'I'll  be  ready.' 

"So  now,  sure  enough,  came  all  the  kings,  as  the 
Red  Man  had  said,  to  lick  Napoleon's  hand  !  Austria, 
Prussia,  Bavaria,  Saxon}r,  Poland,  Italy,  every  one  of 
them  were  with  us,  flattering  us  ;  ah,  it  was  fine  !  The 
eagles  never  cawed  so  loud  as  at  those  parades,  perched 
high  above  the  banners  of  all  Europe.  The  Poles  were 
bursting  with  joy,  because  Napoleon  was  going  to  re- 
lease them  ;  and  that 's  why  France  and  Poland  are 
brothers  to  this  day.  4  Russia  is  ours,'  cried  the  army. 
We  plunged  into  it  well-supplied  ;  we  marched  and  we 
marched,  — no  Russians.  At  last  we  found  the  brutes 
entrenched  on  the  banks  of  the  Moskova.  That 's  where 
I  won  my  cross,  and  I  've  got  the  right  to  say  it  was 
a  damnable  battle.  This  was  how  it  came  about.  The 
Emperor  was  anxious.  He  had  seen  the  Red  Man,  who 
said  to  him,  '  My  son,  you  are  going  too  fast  for  your 
feet ;  you  will  lack  men  ;  friends  will  betray  you.'  So 
the  Emperor  offered  peace.  But  before  signing,  "Let 
us  drub  those  Russians  ! '  he  said  to  us.  '  Done  ! '  cried 
the  army.  '  Forward,  march  ! '  said  the  sergeants.  My 
clothes  were  in  rags,  my  shoes  worn  out,  from  trudging 
along  those  roads,  which  are  very  uncomfortable  ones  ; 
but  no  matter !  I  said  to  myself,  '  As  it 's  the  last  of 
our  earthquakings,  I  '11  go  into  it,  tooth  and  nail ! ' 
We  were  drawn  up  in  line  before  the  great  ravine,  — 
front  seats,  as 'twere.  Signal  given;  and  seven  hun- 
dred pieces  of  artillery  began  a  conversation  that  would 
bring  the  blood  from  your  ears.  Then  —  must  do  jus- 
tice to  one's  enemies  —  the  Russians  let  themselves  be 
killed  like  Frenchmen ;   they  would  n't  give  way ;  we 


The  Country  Doctor.  207 

could  n't  advance.  '  Forward  ! '  some  one  cried,  '  here 
comes  the  Emperor ! '  True  enough ;  he  passed  at  a 
gallop,  waving  his  hand  to  let  us  know  we  must  take 
the  redoubt.  He  inspired  us ;  on  we  ran,  I  was  the 
first  in  the  ravine.  Ha !  my  God  !  how  the  lieutenants 
fell,  and  the  colonels,  and  the  soldiers !  No  matter ! 
all  the  more  shoes  for  those  that  had  none,  and  epau- 
lets for  the  clever  ones  who  knew  how  to  read.  '  Vic- 
tory !  '  cried  the  whole  line  ;  i  Victory  ! '  —  and,  would 
you  believe  it?  a  thing  never  seen  before,  there  lay 
twenty-five  thousand  Frenchmen  on  the  ground.  'T  was 
like  mowing  down  a  wheat-field ;  only  in  place  of  the 
ears  of  wheat  put  the  heads  of  men  !  We  were  sobered 
by  this  time, — those  who  were  left  alive.  The  Man 
rode  up  ;  we  made  the  circle  round  him.  Ha  !  he  knew 
how  to  cajole  his  children ;  he  could  be  amiable  when 
he  liked,  and  feed  'em  with  words  when  their  stomachs 
were  ravenous  with  the  hunger  of  wolves.  Flatterer! 
he  distributed  the  crosses  himself,  he  uncovered  to  the 
dead,  and  then  he  cried  to  us,  '  On !  to  Moscow !  ' 
'  To  Moscow ! '  answered  the  army. 

14  We  took  Moscow.  Would  you  believe  it?  the  Rus- 
sians burned  their  own  city !  'T  was  a  haystack  six 
miles  squp.re,  and  it  blazed  for  two  days.  The  build- 
ings crashed  like  slates,  and  showers  of  melted  iron 
and  lead  rained  down  upon  us,  which  was  naturally 
horrible.  I  may  say  to  you  plainly,  it  was  like  a  flash 
of  lightning  on  our  disasters.  The  Emperor  said, 
4  We  have  done  enough ;  my  soldiers  shall  rest  here.' 
So  we  rested  awhile,  just  to  get  the  breath  into  our 
bodies  and  the  flesh  on  our  bones,  for  we  were  really 
tired.     We  took  possession  of  the  golden  cross  that 


208  The  Country  Doctor. 

was  on  the  Kremlin  ;  and  every  soldier  brought  away 
with  him  a  small  fortune.  But  out  there  the  winter 
sets  in  a  month  earlier,  —  a  thing  those  fools  of  science 
did  n't  properly  explain.  So,  coming  back,  the  cold 
nipped  us.  No  longer  an  army  —  do  }7ou  hear  me  ?  — 
no  longer  any  generals,  no  longer  an}'  sergeants  even. 
'T  was  the  reign  of  wretchedness  and  hunger,  —  a  reign 
of  equality  at  last.  No  one  thought  of  anything  but  to 
see  France  once  more ;  no  one  stooped  to  pick  up  his 
gun  or  his  money  if  he  dropped  them ;  each  man  fol- 
lowed his  nose,  and  went  as  he  pleased  without  caring 
for  glory.  The  weather  was  so  bad  the  Emperor  could  n't 
see  his  star ;  there  was  something  between  him  and  the 
skies.  Poor  man  !  it  made  him  ill  to  see  his  eagles  fly- 
ing away  from  victory.  Ah  !  't  was  a  mortal  blow,  }Tou 
may  believe  me. 

"  Well,  we  got  to  the  Beresina.  M37  friends,  I  can 
affirm  to  you  by  all  that  is  most  sacred,  by  nry  honor, 
that  since  mankind  came  into  the  world,  never,  never, 
was  there  seen  such  a  fricassee  of  an  arm}''  —  guns, 
carriages,  artillerj-wagons  —  in  the  midst  of  such 
snows,  under  such  relentless  skies !  The  muzzles  of 
the  muskets  burned  our  hands  if  we  touched  them,  the 
iron  was  so  cold.  It  was  there  that  the  army  was 
saved  by  the  pontoniers,  who  were  firm  at  their  post ; 
and  there  that  Gondrin,  —  sole  survivor  of  the  men 
who  were  bold  enough  to  go  into  the  water  and  build 
the  bridges  by  which  the  army  crossed,  — that  Gondrin, 
here  present,  admirably  conducted  himself,  and  saved 
us  from  the  Russians,  who,  I  must  tell  3-ou,  still  re- 
spected the  grand  army,  remembering  its  victories. 
And,"  he  added,  pointing  to  Gondrin,  who  was  gazing 


Tlie  Country  Doctor.  209 

at  him  with  the  peculiar  attention  of  a  deaf  man,  "  Gon- 
drin  is  a  finished  soldier,  a  soldier  who  is  honor  itself, 
and  he  merits  your  highest  esteem. 

"  I  saw  the  Emperor,"  he  resumed,  "  standing  by 
the  bridge,  motionless,  not  feeling  the  cold  —  was  that 
human?  He  looked  at  the  destruction  of  his  treasure, 
his  friends,  his  old  Egyptians.  Bah !  all  that  passed 
him,  women,  army-wagons,  artillery,  all  were  shat- 
tered, destroyed,  ruined.  The  bravest  carried  the 
eagles ;  for  the  eagles,  d'  ye  see,  were  France,  the 
nation,  all  of  you  !  they  were  the  civil  and  the  military 
honor  that  must  be  kept  pure ;  could  their  heads  be 
lowered  because  of  the  cold?  It  was  only  near  the 
Emperor  that  we  warmed  ourselves,  because  when  he 
was  in  danger  we  ran,  frozen  as  we  were — we,  who 
would  n't  have  stretched  a  hand  to  save  a  friend. 
They  told  us  he  wept  at  night  over  his  poor  family  of 
soldiers.  Ah  !  none  but  he  and  Frenchmen  could  have 
got  themselves  out  of  that  business.  We  did  get  out, 
but  with  losses,  great  losses,  as  I  tell  3'ou.  The  Allies 
captured  our  provisions.  Men  began  to  betray  him,  as 
the  Red  Man  predicted.  Those  chatterers  in  Paris, 
who  had  held  their  tongues  after  the  Imperial  Guard 
was  formed,  now  thought  he  was  dead ;  so  they  hood- 
winked the  prefect  of  police,  and  hatched  a  conspirac}- 
to  overthrow  the  empire.  He  heard  of  it ;  it  worried 
him.  He  left  us,  saying :  '  Adieu,  my  children  ;  guard 
the  outposts ;  I  shall  return  to  you.'  Bah !  without 
him  nothing  went  right ;  the  generals  lost  their  heads, 
the  marshals  talked  nonsense  and  committed  follies ; 
but  that  was  not  surprising,  for  Napoleon,  who  was  kind, 
had  fed  'em  on  gold ;  they  had  got  as  fat  as  lard,  and 

14 


210  The  Country  Doctor. 

would  n't  stir ;  some  stayed  in  camp  when  the}7  ought 
to  have  been  warming  the  backs  of  the  enemy  who  was 
between  us  and  France. 

"  But  the  Emperor  came  back,  and  he  brought  re- 
cruits, famous  recruits ;  he  changed  their  backbone 
and  made  'em  dogs  of  war,  fit  to  set  their  teeth  into 
anything ;  and  he  brought  a  guard  of  honor,  a  fine 
body  indeed  !  —  all  bourgeois,  who  melted  away  like 
butter  on  a  gridiron. 

"  Well,  spite  of  our  stern  bearing,  here's  everything 
going  against  us  ;  and  yet  the  army  did  prodigies  of  valor. 
Then  came  battles  on  the  mountains,  nations  against 
nations,  —  Dresden,  Lutzen,  Bautzen.  Remember  these 
da}7s,  all  of  you,  for  't  was  then  that  Frenchmen  were 
so  particularly  heroic  that  a  good  grenadier  only  lasted 
six  months.  We  triumphed  always ;  yet  there  were 
those  English,  in  our  rear,  rousing  revolts  against  us 
with  their  lies !  No  matter,  we  cut  our  way  home 
through  the  whole  pack  of  the  nations.  Wherever  the 
Emperor  showed  himself  we  followed  him  ;  for  if,  by 
sea  or  land,  he  gave  us  the  word  '  Go  !  '  we  went.  At 
last,  we  were  in  France  ;  and  man}7  a  poor  foot-soldier 
felt  the  air  of  his  own  country  restore  his  soul  to 
satisfaction,  spite  of  the  wintry  weather.  I  can  say  for 
myself  that  it  refreshed  my  life.  Well,  next,  our  busi- 
ness was  to  defend  France,  our  countiy,  our  beautiful 
France,  against  all  Europe,  which  resented  our  having 
laid  down  the  law  to  the  Russians,  and  pushed  them 
back  into  their  dens,  so  that  they  could  n't  eat  us  up 
alive,  as  northern  nations,  who  are  daint}7  and  like 
southern  flesh,  have  a  habit  of  doing,  —  at  least,  so 
I  've  heard  some  generals  say.     Then  the  Emperor  saw 


The  Country  Doctor,  211 

his  own  father-in-law,  his  friends  who  n  he  had  made 
kings,  and  the  scoundrels  to  whom  he  had  given  back 
their  thrones,  all  against  him.  Even  Frenchmen,  and 
allies  in  our  own  ranks,  turned  against  us  under  secret 
orders,  as  at  the  battle  of  Leipsic.  Would  common 
soldiers  have  been  capable  of  such  wickedness?  Three 
times  a  da}7  men  were  false  to  their  v/ords  —  and  the}' 
called  themselves  princes ! 

"  So,  then,  France  was  invaded.  Wherever  the  Em- 
peror showed  his  lion  face,  the  eneiuy  retreated ;  and 
he  did  more  prodigies  in  defending  France  than  ever  he 
had  done  in  conquering  Italy,  the  East,  Spain,  Europe, 
and  Russia.  He  meant  to  bury  every  invader  under 
the  sod,  and  teach  'em  to  respect  the  soil  of  France. 
So  he  let  them  get  to  Paris,  that  he  might  swallow 
them  at  a  mouthful,  and  rise  to  the  height  of  his  genius 
in  a  battle  greater  than  all  the  rest,  —  a  mother-battle, 
as  't  were.  But  there,  there  !  the  Parisians  were  afraid 
for  their  twopenny  skins,  and  their  trumpery  shops ; 
they  opened  the  gates.  Then  the  Ragusades  began, 
and  happiness  ended.  The  Empress  was  fooled,  and 
the  white  banner  flaunted  from  the  windows.  The 
generals  whom  he  had  made  his  nearest  friends  aban- 
doned him  for  the  Bourbons,  —  a  set  of  people  no  one 
had  heard  tell  of.  The  Emperor  bade  us  farewell  at 
Fontainebleau  :  (  Soldiers  ! '  —  I  can  hear  him  now  ;  we 
wept  like  children  ;  the  flags  and  the  eagles  were  lowered 
as  if  for  a  funeral :  it  was,  I  may  well  say  it  to  you,  it 
was  the  funeral  of  the  Empire  ;  her  dapper  armies  were 
nothing  now  but  skeletons.  So  he  said  to  us,  standing 
there  on  the  portico  of  his  palace :  '  My  soldiers !  we 
are  vanquished  by  treachery ;    but   we  shall  meet   in 


212  The  Country  Doctor. 

heaven,  the  country  of  the  brave.  Defend  my  child, 
whom  I  commit  to  you.  Long  live  Napoleon  II.  ! '  He 
meant  to  die,  that  no  man  should  look  upon  Napoleon 
vanquished ;  he  took  poison,  enough  to  have  killed  a 
regiment,  because,  like  Jesus  Christ  before  his  Passion, 
he  thought  himself  abandoned  of  God  and  his  talisman. 
But  the  poison  did  not  hurt  him. 

"  See  again  !  he  found  he  was  immortal. 

"  Sure  of  himself,  knowing  he  must  ever  be  The 
Emperor,  he  went  for  a  while  to  an  island  to  study  out 
the  nature  of  these  others,  who,  you  may  be  sure,  com- 
mitted follies  without  end.  Whilst  he  bided  his  time 
down  there,  the  Chinese,  and  the  wild  men  on  the  coast 
of  Africa,  and  the  Barbary  States,  and  others  who  are 
not  at  all  accommodating,  knew  so  well  he  was  more 
than  man  that  they  respected  his  tent,  sa}ing  to  touch  it 
would  be  to  offend  God.  Thus,  d'3'e  see,  when  these 
others  turned  him  from  the  doors  of  his  own  France, 
he  still  reigned  over  the  whole  world.  Before  long  he 
embarked  in  the  same  little  cockleshell  of  a  boat  he  had 
had  in  Egypt,  sailed  round  the  beard  of  the  English, 
set  foot  in  France,  and  France  acclaimed  him.  The 
sacred  cuckoo  flew  from  spire  to  spire ;  all  France  cried 
out  with  one  voice,  '  Long  live  the  Emperor  ! '  In 
this  region,  here,  the  enthusiasm  for  that  wonder  of  the 
ages  was,  I  may  sa}^  solid.  Dauphine  behaved  well ; 
and  I  am  particularly  pleased  to  know  that  her  people 
wept  when  they  saw,  once  more,  the  gray  top-coat. 
March  first  it  was,  when  Napoleon  landed  with  two 
hundred  men  to  conquer  that  kingdom  of  France  and  of 
Navarre,  which,  on  the  twentieth  of  the  same  month 
was  again  the  French  Empire.     On  that  day  our  Man 


The  Country  Doctor.  213 

was  in  Paris ;  he  had  made  a  clean  sweep,  recovered  his 
dear  France,  and  gathered  his  veterans  together  by 
saying  no  more  than  three  words,   '  I  am  here.' 

"  'T  was  the  greatest  miracle  God  had  yet  done  !  Be- 
fore him,  did  ever  man  recover  an  empire  by  showing 
his  hat?  And  these  others,  who  thought  they  had 
subdued  France  !  Not  the}* !  At  sight  of  the  eagles,  a 
national  army  sprang  up,  and  we  marched  to  Waterloo. 
There,  the  Guard  died  at  one  blow.  Napoleon,  in 
despair,  threw  himself  three  times  before  the  cannon  of 
the  enemy  without  obtaining  death.  We.  saw  that. 
The  battle  was  lost.  That  night  the  Emperor  called 
his  old  soldiers  to  him ;  on  the  field  soaked  with  our 
blood  he  burned  his  banners  and  his  eagles,  —  his  poor 
eagles,  ever  victorious,  who  cried  '  Forward '  in  the 
battles,  and  had  flown  the  length  and  breadth  of  Europe, 
they  were  saved  the  infamy  of  belonging  to  the  enemy : 
all  the  treasures  of  England  could  n't  get  her  a  tail- 
feather  of  them.  No  more  eagles  !  —  the  rest  is  well- 
known.  The  Red  Man  went  over  to  the  Bourbons,  like 
the  scoundrel  that  he  is.  France  is  crushed  ;  the  soldier 
is  nothing ;  they  deprive  him  of  his  dues ;  they  dis- 
charge him  to  make  room  for  broken-down  nobles  — 
ah,  't  is  pitiable  !  They  seized  Napoleon  bj7  treachery  ; 
the  English  nailed  him  on  a  desert  island  in  mid-ocean 
on  a  rock  raised  ten  thousand  feet  above  the  earth  ; 
and  there  he  is,  and  will  be,  till  the  Red  Man  gives 
him  back  his  power  for  the  happiness  of  France. 
These  others  sa}~  he  's  dead.  Ha,  dead  !  'Tis  eas}7  to 
see  they  don't  know  Him.  They  tell  that  fib  to  catch 
the  people,  and  feel  safe  in  their  hovel  of  a  government. 
Listen  !  the  truth  at  the  bottom  of  it  all  is  that  his  friends 


214  The  Country  Doctor, 

have  left  him  alone  on  the  desert  isle  to  fulfil  a  proph 
ecy,  for  I  forgot  to  say  that  his  name,  Napoleon,  means 
'  lion  of  the  desert.'  Now  this  that  I  tell  yon  is  true  as 
the  Gospel.  All  other  tales  that  you  hear  about  the 
Emperor  are  follies  without  common-sense ;  because, 
d'  ye  see,  God  never  gave  to  child  of  woman  born  the 
right  to  stamp  his  name  in  red  as  he  did,  on  the  earth, 
which  forever  shall  remember  him !  Long  live  Napo- 
leon, the  father  of  his  people  and  of  the  soldier  !  " 

"  Long  live  General  Eble  !  "  cried  the  pontonier. 

"  How  happened  it  you  were  not  killed  in  the  ravine 
at  Moskova?  "  asked  a  peasant  woman. 

"How  do  I  know?  We  went  in  a  regiment,  we 
came  out  a  hundred  foot-soldiers  ;  none  but  the  line 
were  capable  of  taking  that  redoubt :  the  infantry,  d'  ye 
see,  that 's  the  real  army." 

"And  the  cavalry!  what  of  that?"  cried  Genestas, 
letting  himself  roll  from  the  top  of  the  ha}',  and  appear- 
ing with  a  suddenness  which  made  the  bravest  utter  a 
cry  of  terror.  "Eh!  my  old  veteran,  you  forget  the 
red  lancers  of  Poniatowski,  the  cuirassiers,  the  dra- 
goons !  they  that  shook  the  earth  when  Napoleon,  im- 
patient that  the  victory  was  delayed,  said  to  Murat, 
fc  Sire,  cut  them  in  two.'  Ha,  we  were  off!  first  at  a 
trot,  then  at  a  gallop,  '  one,  two,'  and  the  enenry  's 
line  Was  cut  in  halves  like  an  apple  with  a  knife.  A 
charge  of  cavalry,  my  old  hero !  why,  't  is  a  column  of 
cannonballs !  " 

"  How  about  the  pontoniers?  "  cried  Gondrin. 

"  My  children,"  said  Genestas,  becoming  suddenly 
quite  ashamed  of  his  sortie  when  he  saw  himself  in  the 
midst  of  a  silent  and  bewildered  group,  "  there  are  no 


The  Country  Doctor.  215 

spies  here,  —  see,  take  this  and  drink  to  the  Little 
Corporal." 

' '  Long  live  the  Emperor  !  "  cried  all  the  people 
present,  with  one  voice. 

"  Hush,  my  children  !  "  said  the  officer,  straggling  to 
control  his  emotion.  "Hush!  he  is  dead.  He  died 
sa}ring :  '  Gloiy,  France,  and  battle.'  My  friends,  he 
had  to  die,  he  !  but  his  memory  —  never  !  " 

Goguelat  made  a  gesture  of  disbelief;  then  he  said  in 
a  low  voice  to  those  nearest  to  him,  "  The  officer  is  still 
in  the  service,  and  he 's  told  to  tell  the  people  the 
Emperor  is  dead.  We  must  n't  be  angry  with  him, 
because,  d'  ye  see,  a  soldier  has  to  obey  orders." 

As  Genestas  left  the  barn  he  heard  the  Fosseuse 
say,  ' '  That  officer  is  a  friend  of  the  Emperor  and  of 
Monsieur  Benassis."  On  that,  all  the  people  rushed  to 
the  door  to  get  another  sight  of  him,  and  by  the  light  of 
the  moon  the\T  saw  the  doctor  take  his  arm. 

"  I  committed  a  great  folly,"  said  Genestas,  "  let  us 
get  home  quickly.  Those  eagles — the  cannon  —  the 
campaigns  !     I  no  longer  knew  where  I  was." 

"What  do  you  think  of  ny  Goguelat?"  asked 
Benassis. 

"  Monsieur,  so  long  as  such  tales  are  told,  France 
will  carry  in  her  entrails  the  fourteen  armies  of  the 
Republic,  and  ma}''  at  an}'  time  renew  the  conversation 
of  cannon  with  all  Europe.     That 's  my  opinion." 

Shortly  after,  they  reached  the  house  and  sat  down 
thoughtfully  for  awhile  on  either  side  the  fireplace  in 
the  salon,  where  the  clying  embers  still  sent  up  a  few 
sparks.  Notwithstanding  the  proofs  of  confidence 
which   he    had    received    from   the   doctor,    Genestas 


216  The  Country  Doctor. 

hesitated  to  put  a  searching  question  which  might  seem 
indiscreet.  Yet,  after  giving  him  a  few  scrutinizing 
glances,  and  meeting  a  look  full  of  courteous  amenity, 
a  look  only  seen  on  the  lips  of  a  really  strong  man,  he 
was  encouraged  to  say  :  — 

'  Monsieur,  your  life  differs  so  essentially  from  that 
of  other  men  that  3'ou  will  not  be  surprised  if  I  ask  you 
the  cause  of  your  retirement.  Though  my  curiosity 
may  seem  to  3'ou  intrusive,  3011  will  at  least  admit  that 
it  is  veiy  natural.  Let  me  tell  3*011  something.  I  have 
had  comrades  with  whom  I  never  grew  intimate,  not 
even  when  we  had  made  many  campaigns  together ; 
but  I  have  had  others  to  whom  I  would  say,  '  Get  nrjT 
money  with  yours  from  the  paymaster,'  three  da}'s  after 
first  seeing  them  and  getting  drunk  together,  as  will 
sometimes  happen  to  the  best  of  men  in  a  merry  mood. 
Well,  you  are  one  of  those  to  whom  I  make  myself  a 
friend  without  asking  permission,  —  indeed,  without 
fully  knowing  why." 

' '  Captain  Bluteau  —  " 

For  some  time  past,  whenever  the  doctor  gave  him 
nis  false  name,  Genestas  could  not  repress  a  slight  gri- 
mace. Benassis  caught  the  pained  expression  on  his 
face,  and  looked  fixedly  at  the  officer  to  discover  its 
cause  ;  but,  as  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  guess  the 
truth,  he  attributed  the  look  to  some  plrysical  suffering, 
and  after  a  pause  he  went  on  :  — 

"  Captain,  I  will  speak  to  3'ou  of  myself.  Several 
times  to-da}'  I  have  been  led  to  do  so,  as  I  explained 
the  improvements  I  have  brought  about  in  this  valley  ; 
but  it  was  in  connection  with  the  district  and  its  inhabi- 
tants, in  whose  interests  my  own  are  necessarily  mixed 


The  Country  Doctor.  217 

up.  But,  to  tell  you  1113'  histoiy  will  oblige  me  to  speak 
of  myself  ouly,  and  m}-  life  has  little  in  it  that  is  inter- 
esting to  others." 

"  Were  it  as  simple  as  that  of  your  Fosseuse,"  an- 
swered Genestas,  kW  I  still  should  wish  to  hear  it,  that 
I  might  know  what  chances  and  changes  have  thrown 
a  man  of  your  quality  into  this  district." 

"  Captain,  for  twelve  years  I  have  kept  silence. 
Now  that  I  await,  on  the  verge  of  my  grave,  the  blow 
that  is  to  cast  me  into  it,  I  will  have  the  good  faith  to 
tell  }Tou  that  this  silence  begins  to  weigh  upon  me. 
For  twelve  3'ears  I  have  suffered  without  the  consola- 
tion that  friendship  gives  to  wounded  hearts.  My  poor 
sick  people,  my  peasants,  show  me  many  an  example 
of  resignation ;  but  they  have  me  to  understand  them, 
and  the}^  feel  it ;  while  I  have  none  to  gather  my  secret 
sighs,  none  to  give  me  the  hand-clasp  of  a  true  man, 
—  that  best  of  consolations,  which  so  few  lack,  not 
even  Gondrin." 

With  a  sudden  impulse,  Genestas  held  out  his  hand 
to  Benassis,  who  was  deeply  moved  at  the  action. 

4i  Perhaps  the  Fosseuse  would  have  understood  me, 
as  the  angels  would,"  he  resumed,  in  an  altered  voice; 
"but  also  she  might  have  loved  me,  and  that  would 
have  been  a  misfortune.  Captain,  none  but  an  old 
soldier,  indulgent  like  3'ourself,  or  a  young  man  full  of 
illusions,  could  listen  to  my  confession  and  enter  into 
it ;  it  can  be  comprehended  only  bjT  a  man  to  whom 
all  the  wa3's  of  life  are  fully  known,  or  b3T  a  youth 
who  is  a  total  stranger  to  them.  For  lack  of  a  priest, 
the  old  crusaders  died  on  the  battle-field  confessing  to 
the  cross  of  their  sword-hilts  ;  the3*  made  it  the  faithful 


218  The  Country  Doctor. 

mediator  between  their  souls  and  God.  And  so  you, 
one  of  Napoleon's  finest  sabres,  you,  hard  and  strong 
as  steel,  you,  perhaps,  will  comprehend  me  well.  To 
enter  fully  into  my  story,  it  is  quite  necessary  to  pos- 
sess certain  delicacies  of  feeling,  and  to  share  in  the 
natural  beliefs  of  simple  hearts ;  all  of  which  seem 
ridiculous  to  those  philosophers  who  apply  to  their  pri- 
vate interests  the  maxims  which  belong  to  the  govern- 
ment of  States.  I  shall  speak  to  you  in  good  faith,  as 
a  man  who  seeks  to  justif}^  neither  the  good  nor  the  evil 
of  his  life;  and  who  hides  nothing  from  you,  because 
he  is  here  to-da}',  far  removed  from  the  world,  indiffer- 
ent to  the  judgment  of  men,  and  full  of  hope  in  God." 

Benassis  paused;  then  he  rose  and  said:  "Before 
beginning  my  tale  I  will  order  tea.  For  twelve  years 
Jacquotte  has  never  failed  to  come  and  ask  if  I  wished 
for  it ;  she  would  certainly  interrupt  us  now.  Will  you 
take  some,  captain?" 

"  Thank  }7ou,  no." 

Benassis  soon  returned. 


The  Country  Doctor.  219 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  CONFESSION  OF  THE  COUNTRY  DOCTOR. 

"  I  was  born,"  resumed  the  doctor,  "  in  a  small  town 
in  Languedoc,  where  my  father  had  lived  for  some  time  ; 
and  there  my  childhood  was  passed.  When  eight  years 
old,  I  was  sent  to  a  school  at  Sorreze,  which  I  did  not 
leave  until  I  went  to  finish  my  education  in  Paris.  My 
father's  youth  had  been  wild  and  prodigal,  but  his 
wasted  patrimony  was  replaced  by  a  fortunate  mar- 
riage, and  by  the  slow  savings  of  a  provincial  life, 
where  more  pride  is  felt  in  the  possession  of  money 
than  in  the  spending  of  it,  and  where  the  natural  am- 
bitions of  men  die  out  or  turn  to  avarice,  in  default  of 
generous  nutriment.  Becoming  rich,  and  having  but 
one  son,  he  wished  to  transmit  to  me  the  cold  expe- 
rience he  had  gained  in  exchange  for  his  vanished  illu- 
sions, —  last  and  noble  error  of  old  men,  who  vainly 
strive  to  bequeath  their  virtues  and  their  prudence  to 
children  who  are  enamoured  of  life  and  in  haste  to 
enjoy  it.  This  desire  on  the  part  of  my  father  led  him 
to  lay  down  a  plan  for  nry  education  of  which,  in  the  end, 
I  became  a  victim.  He  carefully  concealed  from  me  the 
real  value  of  his  property,  and  condemned  me,  in  my  own 
interests,  to  suffer  during  my  best  }Tears  the  privations 
and  anxieties  of  a  young  man  eager  to  acquire  his  in- 
dependence ;  he  wished  to  instil  into  me  the  virtues  of 


220  The  Country  Doctor. 

poverty  —  patience,  a  thirst  for  knowledge,  and  the  love 
of  work.  By  thus  forcing  me  to  recognize  the  value  of 
wealth,  he  hoped  to  teach  me  the  lesson  of  preserving 
my  inheritance  ;  and  therefore,  as  soon  as  I  was  old 
enough  to  listen  to  advice,  he  urged  me  to  adopt  and 
follow  some  profession.  My  tastes  inclined  me  to  the 
study  of  medicine.  From  Sorreze,  where  for  ten  years 
I  had  been  under  the  half-conventual  discipline  of  the 
Oratorians  in  the  solitude  of  a  provincial  Lyceum,  I 
was  brought,  without  an  intervening  moment,  to  the 
capital. 

"  My  father  accompanied  me,  for  the  purpose  of  pre- 
senting me  to  one  of  his  friends.  The  two  old  men 
took,  without  my  knowledge,  the  most  minute  precau- 
tions against  the  effervescence  of  nry  youth,  then  so 
innocent.  M}T  allowance  was  closely  calculated,  and 
brought  down  to  the  actual  necessaries  of  life,  and  I 
could  only  draw  my  quarterly  stipend  by  presenting  the 
receipts  for  the  payment  of  m}^  terms  at  the  School  of 
Medicine.  This  mortifying  distrust  was  concealed  un- 
der a  pretence  of  business  methods.  In  other  respects 
m}-  father  was  liberal  as  to  the  expenses  of  m}T  educa- 
tion and  the  ordinary  pleasures  of  Parisian  life.  His 
old  friend,  who  was  glad  to  have  a  young  man  to  guide 
through  the  labyrinth  I  was  about  to  enter,  was  one  of 
those  men  who  class  their  feelings  as  carefully  as  they 
docket  their  papers.  By  consulting  the  note- book  of  a 
preceding  }*ear,  he  always  knew  what  he  had  done  in  the 
month,  day,  and  hour  that  corresponded  to  the  current 
year.  Life  was  to  him  an  enterprise,  of  which  he  kept 
a  commercial  account.  He  was  a  man  of  much  merit, 
but  shrewd,  over-precise,  distrustful,  and  never  without 


The  Country  Doctor.  221 

specious  reasons  to  explain  the  precautions  he  took 
against  me.  He  bought  my  books  ;  he  paid  for  nu 
lessons  ;  when  I  wished  to  learn  to  ride,  the  worthy 
man  inquired  in  person  for  the  best  school,  took  me 
there  himself,  and  forestalled  my  wishes  by  putting  a 
horse  at  my  disposal  for  the  holidaj's.  But  in  spite  of 
these  devices  of  old  age,  which  I  learned  to'  baffle  as 
soon  as  I  had  an  interest  in  escaping  them,  the  excellent 
man  was  a  second  father  to  me.  '  My  friend,'  he  sai<\ 
as  soon  as  he  perceived  that  I  should  break  my  tether 
unless  he  lengthened  it,  '  young  men  are  often  hurried 
into  follies  by  the  impetuosity  of  their  age  ;  you  may 
some  day  find  yourself  in  want  of  monej- ;  in  that  case, 
come  to  me.  Your  father  formerly  did  me  a  great  ser- 
vice, and  I  shall  alwaj's  have  a  trifle  at  your  command  ; 
but  never  deceive  me,  and  never  be  afraid  to  tell  me 
your  errors.  I  have  been  young,  and  we  shall  under- 
stand each  other  like  comrades.' 

"  My  father  installed  me  in  a  second-class  boarding- 
house  in  the  Latin  quarter,  among  respectable  people, 
where  I  had  a  tolerably  well-furnished  room.  This  first 
stage  of  independence,  the  kindness  of  my  father,  the 
sacrifices  he  seemed  to  be  making  for  me,  gave  me, 
nevertheless,  but  little  pleasure.  Perhaps  we  must 
taste  the  sweets  of  liberty  before  we  can  understand  its 
full  value.  Now,  the  memory  of  my  free  childhood  was 
nearly  obliterated  by  the  restraints  of  a  conventual 
school-life,  the  burden  of  which  my  mind  had  not  as  yet 
thrown  off;  and  the  injunctions  of  my  father  had  just 
put  fresh  tasks  upon  me.  Moreover,  Paris,  to  mj'  eyes, 
was  an  enigma ;  it  affords  no  amusement  until  we  have 
learned  to  study  its  pleasures.     Thus  I  found  my  posi- 


222  The  Country  Doctor. 

tion  little  changed,  unless  it  were  that  my  new  lyceum 
was  on  a  larger  scale,  and  called  itself  the  School  of 
Medicine.  Nevertheless  I  studied  vigorously,  I  at- 
tended the  lectures  with  assiduity,  I  flung  myself  into 
work  with  all  my  strength,  taking  no  relaxation ;  for 
the  treasures  of  science  which  abound  in  Paris  roused 
and  delighted  mjr  imagination. 

"Soon,  however,  a  few  imprudent  intimacies,  whose 
dangers  were  veiled  by  the  thoughtless,  confiding  friend- 
ship which  captivates  all  young  men,  carried  me  insen- 
sibly into  the  dissipations  of  Paris.  I  took  a  passion- 
ate delight  in  the  theatre  and  in  actors,  and  this  began 
the  work  of  my  demoralization.  The  theatres  of  a  city 
are  baneful  to  3*oung  men,  who  never  come  out  of  them 
without  emotions  against  which  the}r  struggle  nearly 
always  fruitlessly ;  so  also  with  soeiet}-,,  whose  laws 
seem  to  me  to  be  the  accomplices  of  the  debauchery 
there  committed.  Our  legislation  has,  as  it  were,  shut 
its  eyes  to  the  passions  wrhich  torment  a  young  man  be- 
tween the  ages  of  twenty  and  twenty-five.  In  Paris 
everything  assails  him ;  his  appetites  are  perpetually 
provoked.  Religion  preaches  virtue  to  him,  and  the 
laws  command1  him  to  practise  it,  but  the  things  of  life, 
and  manners,  and  customs  invite  him  to  evil ;  the  best 
of  men  and  the  most  pious  of  women  make  light  of  con- 
tinence. The  great  cit}r  of  Paris  seems  to  regard  it  as 
a  duty  to  encourage  vice ;  for  the  obstacles  it  puts  in 
the  way  of  all  careers  where  a  young  man  can  honorably 
make  his  fortune  are  even  more  numerous  than  the 
snares  it  sets  for  his  passions  which  dissipate  it. 

"■For  a  long  time  I  went  night  after  night  to  some 
theatre,  and  contracted,  little  byT  little,  idle  habits.     I 


The  Country  Doctor.  223 

compromised  with  my  sense  of  duty ;  often  I  put  off 
my  most  pressing  occupations  to  the  morrow  ;  soon, 
instead  of  endeavoring  to  acquire  knowledge,  I  did 
only  such  tasks  as  were  absolutely  necessary  to  pass 
my  examinations  before  taking  my  medical  degree.  At 
the  lectures  I  no  longer  listened  to  the  professors,  who, 
as  I  called  it,  prosed.  I  flung  down  my  old  gcds,  and 
became  a  Parisian  ;  in  short,  I  led  the  unbalanced  life 
of  a  young  provincial  who,  let  loose  in  the  great  citj', 
still  retains  a  few  true  sentiments  and  still  believes  in 
certain  moral  precepts,  though  he  allows  himself  to  be 
corrupted  b}'  bad  examples,  from  which,  at  the  same 
time,  he  desires  to  escape.  I  made  a  poor  fight ;  I  had 
accomplices  within  myself.  Yes,  monsieur,  my  face  is 
not  deceptive ;  I  have  had  all  the  passions  whose  im- 
print is  now  upon  it.  Nevertheless,  I  kept,  deep  in 
my  heart,  the  sentiment  of  moral  perfection,  which, 
throughout  nry  errors,  never  left  me,  and  was  destined 
to  bring  back  to  God,  through  remorse  and  weariness, 
the  man  whose  }Touth  had  quenched  its  thirst  in  the 
pure  waters  of  religion.  He  who  keenly  feels  the 
passionate  joys  of  earth  will  sooner  or  later  be  at- 
tracted by  the  flavor  of  the  fruits  of  heaven. 

"  I  went  through  the  thousand  delights,  the  countless 
despairs  which  more  or  less  actively  surround  all  3*outh 
at  its  outset.  Sometimes  I  mistook  my  sense  of  vigor 
for  the  power  of  a  firm  will,  and  deluded  myself  as  to 
the  extent  of  my  abilities  ;  sometimes  at  sight  of  the 
smallest  obstacle  in  my  way  I  fell  into  deeper  discour- 
agement than  was  natural  to  me.  I  conceived  vast 
schemes,  I  dreamed  of  glory,  I  buckled  to  work ;  and 
then   some  pleasure-party   scattered   my  noble,   half- 


224  The  Country  Doctor, 

willed  fancies.  Yet  the  vague  memory  of  these  grand, 
miscarried  conceptions  left  deceitful  gleams  behind 
them,  which  led  me  to  believe  in  myself,  without  giving 
me  the  energy  to  bring  anything  to  birth.  This  indo- 
lence, full  of  self-sufficiency,  made  me  neither  more  nor 
less  than  a  fool ;  for  a  fool  is  one  who  does  nothing  to 
justify  the  good  opinion  he  forms  of  himself.  I  had 
activity  without  a  purpose  ;  I  wanted  the  flowers  of 
life  without  the  labor  that  makes  them  bloom.  Ignor- 
ing obstacles,  I  believed  everything  easy  ;  the  successes 
of  science  and  the  successes  of  fortune  I  attributed  to 
luck.  To  my  mind,  genius  was  charlatanism  ;  I  imag- 
ined myself  a  man  of  science,  because  it  was  in  my 
power  to  become  one ;  and  without  reflecting  on  the 
patience  that  begets  great  work  or  the  doing  that 
reveals  its  difficulties,  I  drew  at  sight  upon  all  its 
glories. 

"  My  pleasures  were  rapidly  exhausted.  The  theatre 
did  not  long  amuse  me  ;  Paris  was  soon  a  void  and  a 
desert  to  a  poor  student  whose  only  societ}7  was  that  of 
an  old  man  who  knew  nothing  of  the  actual  world,  and 
the  wearisome  persons  to  be  met  with  in  a  boarding- 
house.  Like  all  other  young  men  who  are  disgusted 
with  the  life  they  lead,  who  have  no  fixed  ideas,  and  no 
settled  purpose  in  their  minds,  I  wandered  for  da}'s 
about  the  streets,  along  the  quays,  through  the  mu- 
seums and  the  public  gardens.  An  aimless  life  is 
harder  to  bear  at  that  age  than  at  any  other,  for  it  is 
full  of  wasted  sap  and  of  movement  that  leads  to  no  re- 
sult. I  ignored  the  power  that  a  firm  will  puts  into  the 
hands  of  a  j7oung  man  if  he  is  able  to  conceive  a  pur- 
pose, and  if  he  brings  to  bear  on  the  execution  of  it  all 


The  Country  Doctor.  225 

his  vital  forces  strengthened  still  further  b\*  the  intrepid 
beliefs  of  j-outh.  In  childhood  we  are  simply  innocent, 
ignorant  of  the  dangers  of  life  ;  in  youth  we  perceive 
its  difficulties  and  its  limitless  extent.  At  the  sight,  a 
youth's  courage  sometimes  fails  ;  while  still  new  to  the 
business  of  social  life  he  falls  a  prey  to  a  sort  of  idiocy, 
a  feeling  of  dull  stupidity,  as  though  he  were  helpless 
in  a  foreign  land.  At  eveiy  age,  the  utterly  unknown 
is  a  cause  of  involuntary  terror.  A  }'Oung  man  is  like 
a  soldier  who  marches  to  the  mouths  of  cannon,  and  runs 
away  from  a  ghost.  He  hesitates  among  the  world's 
maxims  ;  he  knows  neither  how  to  give  nor  how  to  take, 
how  to  defend  himself  nor  how  to  attack  ;  he  loves 
women,  and  respects  them  as  if  he  feared  them.  His 
qualities  stand  in  his  way  ;  he  is  all  generosity,  all  mod- 
esty, and  free  from  the  calculations  of  self-interest ;  if 
he  lies,  it  is  for  his  pleasure,  not  his  advantage  ;  in 
dubious  paths,  his  conscience,  with  which  he  has  not 
yet  compromised,  shows  him  the  right  way,  though  he 
dela3*s  to  take  it.  Men  born  to  live  by  the  inspira- 
tions of  the  heart  instead  of  listening  to  the  dictates  of 
the  head,  often  remain  a  long  time  in  this  fluctuating 
position.  It  was  mine.  I  became  the  plaything  of  two 
contending  influences,  —  impelled  on  the  one  hand  by 
the  desires  of  a  young  man,  restrained  on  the  other 
by  sentimental  timidity. 

"The  emotions  excited  by  Parisian  life  are  cruel  to 
souls  endowed  writh  keen  sensibility ;  the  advantages 
which  superior  men  or  rich  men  there  enjo}'  irritate 
the  passions  of  other  men.  In  that  world  of  grandeur 
and  of  littleness,  envy  is  oftener  a  dagger  than  a  spur. 
Amid  the  constant  struggle  of  ambitions,  desires,  and 

15 


226  The  Country  Doctor. 

hatreds,  it  is  impossible  to  escape  being  either  the 
victim  or  the  accomplice  of  the  general  movement ; 
insensibly,  the  perpetual  sight  of  vice  made  happy 
and  virtue  contemptible  leads  a  young  man  to  waver. 
Parisian  life  quickly  destroys  the  texture  of  his  con- 
science ;  and  then  begins,  soon  to  be  accomplished, 
the  infernal  work  of  his  demoralization.  The  first  of 
all  pleasures,  the  one  which  in  the  beginning  includes 
all  others,  is  environed  with  such  perils  that  it  is  im- 
possible not  to  reflect  on  the  smallest  actions  to  which 
it  incites,  and  not  to  calculate  their  every  consequence. 
Such  calculations  lead  to  selfishness.  If  some  poor 
student,  swept  onward  b}r  the  impetuosity  of  his  pas- 
sions, is  disposed  to  rise  out  of  self,  those  whom  he 
sees  about  him  exhibit  and  inspire  such  distrust  of 
higher  things  that  it  is  very  difficult  for  him  not  to 
share  in  that  distrust,  and  not  to  put  himself  on  guard 
against  his  own  generous  impulses.  Such  a  struggle 
withers  and  shrinks  the  soul,  drives  the  life  to  the  brain, 
produces  Parisian  callousness,  and  results  in  that  code 
of  manners  and  morals  where,  under  a  bewitching  fri- 
volity and  fictitious  enthusiasms,  lurk  policy  or  lucre. 
In  that  world,  the  intoxication  of  happiness  does  not 
hinder  the  most  artless  of  women  from  keeping  her  head 
clear.  Such  an  atmosphere  naturally  influenced  both 
my  feelings  and  m}T  behavior.  The  errors  which  poi- 
soned 1113'  life  might  perhaps  have  weighed  lightly  on 
the  consciences  of  other  men,  but  Southern  natures  have 
a  religious  faith  which  compels  them  to  believe  in  Cath- 
olic truth  and  in  the  certaint}T  of  another  life.  Such 
beliefs  give  depth  to  their  passions,  and  persistency  to 
their  remorse. 


The  Country  Doctor.  227 

"At  the  time  when  T  was  studying  medicine,  military 
men  were  the  masters  of  societ}' ;  to  please  a  woman  it 
was  necessary  to  be  at  least  a  colonel.  What  could  a 
poor  student  be  in  such  society?  Nothing.  Goaded 
by  the  vigor  of  my  passions,  finding  no  outlet  for  them, 
hampered  at  every  step  and  in  every  wish  by  the  want 
of  money,  regarding  study  and  its  honors  as  too  slow 
a  means  to  procure  pleasures  that  tempted  me,  vacillat- 
ing between  the  promptings  of  an  inward  shame  and 
the  force  of  evil  examples,  meeting  with  every  facility 
for  profligacy  in  low  places,  and  every  difficulty  in  at- 
tempting to  enter  good  societ}-,  —  I  passed  sad  da}*s,  a 
prey  to  the  surgings  of  passion,  to  the  sloth  that  kills, 
to  a  despondency  which  broke  at  times  into  sudden  ela- 
tions.  This  crisis  ended  in  a  way  that  is  common 
enough  in  the  lives  of  young  men. 

"I  have  always  had  the  deepest  repugnance  to  injur- 
ing the  peace  of  households  ;  partly,  perhaps,  because 
the  natural  frankness  of  nvy  feelings  prevents  me  from 
disguising  them,  and  it  would  have  been  physically 
impossible  to  me  to  live  in  a  position  of  flagrant  false- 
hood. On  the  other  hand,  pleasures  snatched  in  haste 
never  tempted  me ;  I  like  better  to  taste  nry  happiness. 
Not  being  actually  vicious,  I  was  helpless  against  my 
isolation ;  I  made  many  abortive  attempts  to  enter 
society,  where  I  might  have  met  with  some  woman  will- 
ing to  devote  herself  to  teaching  me  the  perils  of  the  way, 
who  would  have  formed  my  manners,  advised  me  with- 
out wounding  my  pride,  and  introduced  me  wherever  I 
could  have  made  friends  who  would  have  been  useful  to 
me  in  m}r  future  career.  In  my  despair,  some  danger- 
ous intrigue  might  perhaps  have  seduced  me ;  but  all 


228  The  Country  Doctor. 

that  was  beyond  mj'  reach,  even  the  peril  of  it;  inex- 
perience threw  me  back  into  solitude,  where  I  remained 
face  to  face  with  my  thwarted  passions. 

"  Finally,  monsieur,  I  formed  a  connection,  at  first  a 
secret  one,  with  a  young  girl  whom  I  persuaded,  will- 
ingly or  unwillingly,  to  share  my  life.  She  belonged 
to  an  honest  family  of  small  means  ;  it  was  not  long 
before  she  left  her  simple  life,  fearlessly  confiding  to  me 
a  future  which  virtue  had  hitherto  made  hopeful  to  her. 
The  narrowness  of  my  means  probably  seemed  to  her 
the  surest  guarantee  of  my  faithfulness.  From  that 
moment,  the  tempest  which  had  raged  in  my  heart,  my 
extravagant  desires,  nry  ambitions,  all  subsided  into 
happiness,  —  the  happiness  of  a  young  man  who  as  yet 
knows  nothing  of  the  ways  of  the  world,  of  its  maxims, 
its  conventions,  or  the  strength  of  its  prejudices  ;  but  a 
happiness  as  complete  as  that  of  a  child.  A  first  love 
is  like  a  new  childhood  thrown  across  our  days  of  pain 
and  labor. 

"There  are  some  men  wTho  learn  to  know  life  at  a 
glance,  who  judge  it  for  what  it  is,  who  see  its  errors 
and  profit  by  them,  understand  its  social  maxims  and 
turn  them  to  their  own  advantage,  and  know  how  to 
estimate  the  bearings  of  everything.  Such  frigid  men 
are  wise  in  their  generation,  according  to  human  laws. 
But  there  are  others,  poor  poets,  high-strung  natures, 
who  feel  deeply  and  commit  errors.  I  was  one  of  them. 
My  first  attachment  was  not  a  real  passion.  I  followed 
my  instinct  and  not  my  heart.  I  sacrificed  a  poor  girl  to 
myself,  and  found  no  lack  of  reasons  to  assure  me  I  was 
doing  no  wrong.  As  for  her,  she  was  devotion  itself,  — 
a  heart  of  gold,  a  just  spirit,  a  noble  soul.     She  never 


The  Country  Doctor.  229 

gave  me  any  but  the  best  advice.  At  first,  her  love 
revived  m}*  courage  ;  she  gently  led  me,  by  her  belief  in 
me,  to  take  up  my  studies,  predicting  success  and  fame 
and  fortune.  In  these  days,  medical  science  touches 
closely  on  all  other  sciences,  and  its  distinctions,  though 
difficult  to  win,  are  well  rewarded.  Fame  is  always  a 
fortune  in  Paris.  This  tender  young  girl  forgot  herself 
in  me,  shared  my  life  and  bore  with  its  caprices,  and 
her  economy  brought  luxury  within  my  narrow  means. 
I  had  more  to  spend  upon  my  fancies  when  we  were 
two  together  than  I  had  ever  had  alone. 

"  Monsieur,  it  was  the  best  part  of  all  my  life.  I 
wrorked  eagerly,  for  I  had  an  object,  I  was  encouraged  ; 
I  brought  home  my  thoughts,  I  related  my  actions  to 
one  who  knew  how  to  win  my  love,  and,  better  still, 
to  inspire  respect  for  the  discretion  she  displayed,  in  a 
situation  where  discretion  might,  perhaps,  be  thought 
impossible.  But  nrv  da}s  were  all  alike,  monsieur. 
This  monotony  of  happiness,  the  most  delightful  condi- 
tion there  is  on  earth,  whose  value  is  not  felt  till  we  have 
passed  through  all  the  tempests  of  the  heart,  —  that  sweet 
state  into  which  no  weariness  of  life  can  enter,  where  the 
most  secret  thoughts  are  shared,  where  we  are  compre- 
hended —  ah  !  to  an  ardent  man,  hungiy  for  social  dis- 
tinctions, wearied  of  seeking  fortune  because  she  came 
with  lagging  feet,  such  happiness  grew  to  be  a  clog. 
My  old  dreams  assailed  me ;  I  vehemently  desired  the 
pleasures  of  wealth,  and  now  I  demanded  them  in  the 
name  of  love.  I  expressed  these  wishes  without  reserve, 
at  night,  when  a  dear  voice  questioned  me,  and  I  sat, 
morose  and  melancholy,  and  absorbed  in  voluptuous 
dreauis  of  imaginary  opulence.    I  must  have  made  that 


230  The  Country  Doctor. 

gentle  creature,  — who  had  vowed  herself  to  m^  happi- 
ness,—  I  must  indeed  have  made  her  suffer.  To  her, 
the  worst  of  griefs  was  to  see  me  long  for  something 
that  she  could  not  give.  Oh,  monsieur !  the  devotion 
of  women  is  sublime  !  " 

The  exclamation  revealed  some  secret  anguish,  and 
the  doctor  fell  into  a  passing  reveiy,  which  Genestas 
refrained  from  interrupting. 

"Well,  monsieur,"  resumed  Benassis,  "an  event 
which  ought  to  have  completed  the  marriage  thus 
begun,  put  an  end  to  it,  and  was  the  first  cause  of  my 
after  sorrows.  My  father  died,  leaving  a  considerable 
fortune.  Matters  relating  to  my  inheritance  took  me 
for  some  months  into  Languedoc,  and  I  went  alone.  I 
recovered  nry  libeily.  Every  obligation,  even  the 
sweetest,  weighs  upon  youth  ;  we  must  have  experience 
of  life  before  we  can  admit  the  necessity  of  a  }~oke  and 
the  virtue  of  labor.  I  felt,  with  the  vivacit}-  of  a  Lan- 
guedocian,  all  the  delight  of  coming  and  going  without 
having  to  render  an  account,  even  a  voluntary  one,  of 
nry  doings.  If  I  did  not  wholly  forget  the  ties  that 
bound  me,  I  was  so  occupied  with  pleasurable  interests 
that  the  recollection  of  them  grew  insensibly  weaker. 
I  could  not  think  without  a  pang  of  renewing  them  on 
my  return  ;  and  then  I  asked  myself  why  I  should  renew 
them  at  all.  It  is  true  I  received  letters  full  of  deep 
tenderness ;  but  at  twenty-two  years  of  age  a  young 
man  fancies  that  all  women  are  equally  tender ;  he 
cannot  }^et  distinguish  between  heart  and  passion  ;  he 
confuses  all  in  a  general  sense  of  pleasure,  which  seems, 
at  first,  to  include  all.  It  was  only  later,  when  I  had 
come  to  a  knowledge  of  men  and  things,  that  I  learned 


The  Country  Doctor.  231 

to  appreciate  what  there  was  of  true  nobility  in  those 
letters,  where  nothing  selfish  ever  mingled  in  the  ex- 
pression of  feelings,  where  the  rejoicings  over  my  pros- 
perity were  for  me  alone,  and  where  no  hint  that  I 
could  change  was  ever  uttered,  because  the  writer  knew 
herself  incapable  of  change.  But  already  I  was  giving 
myself  up  to  ambitious  calculations ;  I  thought  of 
plunging  into  the  pleasures  of  wealth,  of  becoming  a 
personage,  and  making  a  prosperous  marriage.  I  con- 
tented myself  by  sa37ing,  with  the  cold  conceit  of  a  fop, 
4  She  is  very  fond  of  me.'  Already  I  was  anxious  to 
find  a  means  of  freeing  myself  from  the  connection. 

"Such  embarrassments  and  their  attendant  shame 
lead  to  cruelty  ;  to  escape  blushing  before  his  victim, 
the  man  who  has  begun  by  wounding  her  soon  kills 
her.  The  reflections  I  have  since  made  on  my  conduct 
at  that  time  have  revealed  to  me  many  abysses  in  m}7 
own  heart.  Believe  me,  monsieur,  those  who  sound  the 
vices  and  virtues  of  human  nature  to  their  depths  have 
studied  them  in  good  faith  within  themselves.  Our 
own  conscience  is  the  point  of  departure.  We  reason 
from  ourselves  to  man,  never  from  man  to  us. 

"  When  I  returned  to  Paris,  I  went  to  live  in  a  house 
I  had  hired,  without  informing  the  only  person  who  had 
an  interest  in  my  actions  of  my  return  to  Paris  or  my 
change  of  feeling.  I  was  bent  on  playing  a  part  among 
the  young  men  of  fashion.  At  the  end  of  a  few  days, 
after  tasting  the  first  sweets  of  opulence,  and  when  I 
felt  sufficiently  elated  not  to  fall,  as  I  thought,  into 
weakness,  I  visited  the  poor  creature  I  was  intending 
to  abandon.  With  the  natural  tact  of  women  she 
guessed   my  secret  feelings,   and  hid  her  tears.     She 


232  The  Country  Doctor. 

must  have  despised  me  ;  bet  ever  gentle  and  good,  she 
showed  no  contempt.  This  forbearance  harassed  me 
greatly.  Assassins  of  the  home  or  the  highway  wish 
their  victims  to  act  in  self-defence  ;  the  struggle  seems 
to  justify  the  killing.  At  first,  I  continued  my  visits 
very  affectionately.  Though  I  was  no  longer  tender,  I 
made  an  effort  to  appear  amiable ;  after  that  I  insen- 
sibly became  polite,  until  one  da}r,  by  a  sort  of  tacit 
agreement,  she  allowed  me  to  treat  her  like  a  stranger, 
and  I  considered  that  I  was  acting  very  suitably.  Nev- 
ertheless, I  flung  myself  with  a  sort  of  fury  into  the 
world,  to  stifle  in  amusements  the  little  remorse  that 
remained  to  me.  He  who  despises  himself  cannot  live 
alone ;  I  led  the  dissipated  life  which  young  men  of 
fortune  lead  in  Paris.  Having  a  good  education  and  a 
powerful  memory,  I  seemed  to  have  more  mind  than  I 
really  had,  and  I  was  thus  led  to  think  myself  of  more 
consequence  than  others.  My  superiority  was  so  read- 
ily admitted  on  all  sides  that  I  took  no  pains  to  main- 
tain it.  Of  all  the  influences  of  life,  praise  is  the  most 
skilfully  treacherous.  In  Paris,  policy  in  every  walk  of 
life  knows  how  to  smother  talent  at  its  birth  under  the 
wreaths  flung  in  heaps  upon  its  cradle.  I  did  no 
honor  to  my  reputation,  I  took  no  advantage  of  my 
standing  to  open  a  way  to  a  career,  I  made  no  useful 
connections.  On  the  contrary,  I  gave  waj'  to  frivoli- 
ties of  every  kind.  I  had  those  ephemeral  passions 
which  are  the  shame  of  the  salons  of  Paris,  where  each 
heart  searching  for  a  true  love  is  satiated  in  the  pursuit 
of  it,  falls  into  the  libertinage  of  polite  society,  and 
ends  by  being  as  much  astonished  at  a  real  passion  as 
the  world  is  at  a  fine  action. 


The  Country  Doctor.  233 

"  I  imitated  others  ;  T  often  wounded  fresh  and  can- 
did souls  by  the  same  blows  which  were  lacerating  me 
secretly.  In  spite  of  the  false  appearances  by  which  I 
was  judged,  I  had  within  me  an  unconquerable  delicacy 
which  I  always  obeyed.  Many  a  time  I  was  duped 
when  I  would  have  blushed  not  to  be ;  and  I  brought 
myself  into  trouble  by  a  natural  good  faith  for  which  I 
was  thankful  in  my  heart.  The  world  is  full  of  respect 
for  cleverness,  under  whatever  form  it  shows  itself; 
results  make  law.  Society",  therefore,  ascribed  to  me 
vices,  qualities,  victories,  and  defeats  that  were  not 
mine,  credited  me  with  successes  in  gallantry  of  which 
I  knew  nothing,  blamed  me  for  actions  in  which  I  had 
no  share.  My  pride  made  me  disdain  to  refute  the 
calumnies,  nry  vanity  led  me  to  accept  each  flattering 
mistake.  M}r  life  was  outwardly  happy,  inwardly  mis- 
erable. Had  it  not  been  for  the  sorrows  that  were 
about  to  overtake  me,  I  should  gradually  have  lost  all 
my  good  qualities,  and  allowed  my  evil  ones  to  triumph 
through  the  continual  play  of  passions,  through  the 
abuse  of  enjoyments  which  enervate  the  body,  and  b}T 
those  detestable  habits  of  selfishness  which  wear  out, 
in  the  end,  -the  springs  of  the  soul. 

"I  was  ruining  myself  financially, — in  this  wise: 
Whatever  a  man's  fortune  may  be,  he  is  sure  to  find  in 
Paris  some  one  of  superior  fortune  whom  he  makes  an 
object  of  emulation  and  seeks  to  surpass.  Like  so  many 
other  harebrained  youths,  I  fell  a  victim  to  this  ambition  ; 
at  the  end  of  four  years  I  was  obliged  to  sell  certain 
portions  of  my  property  and  mortgage  others.  Then  a 
terrible  blow  struck  me  down.  It  was  nearly  two  years 
since  I  had  seen  the  young  girl  I  had  abandoned ;  but 


234  The  Country  Doctor. 

at  the  rate  I  was  living,  misfortunes  would  doubtless 
have  carried  me  back  to  her.  One  evening,  in  the  midst 
of  a  ga\-  company,  I  received  a  note  written  in  a  feeble 
hand,  which  contained  something  like  these  words :  — 

"  '  I  have  not  long  to  live ;  my  friend,  I  wish  to  see  you  that 
I  may  know  the  fate  of  my  child,  whether  he  will  be  yours; 
and  also  to  soften  the  regret  you  may  one  day  feel  for  my 
death.' 

"  The  letter  horrified  me  ;  it  revealed  the  secret  suf- 
ferings of  the  past,  while  it  opened  the  mysteries  of  the 
future.  I  went  out  on  foot,  not  waiting  for  my  carriage, 
and  crossed  the  whole  of  Paris,  driven  b}'  remorse,  and 
grasped  by  the  violence  of  my  first  feeling,  —  a  feel- 
ing which  became  lasting  as  soon  as  I  saw  m}'  victim. 
The  neatness  under  wThich  her  poverty  was  hidden  gave 
signs  of  the  anguish  of  her  life.  She  spared  me  what 
shame  she  could,  and  spoke  of  her  sufferings  with  a 
noble  reserve  after  I  had  solemnly  promised  to  adopt 
her  child.  She  died,  monsieur,  —  in  spite  of  the  care  I 
lavished  upon  her,  in  spite  of  all  the  resources  of  science, 
which  I  vainly  invoked.  All  my  care,  1113'  too-late  de- 
votion, only  served  to  make  her  last  moments  less  bit- 
ter. She  had  toiled  ceaselessly  to  maintain  her  child. 
The  maternal  sentiment  had  supported  her  under  pov- 
erty,  but  not  against  the  keenest  of  her  griefs,  —  my 
desertion.  A  hundred  times  she  had  thought  of  appeal- 
ing to  me  ;  a  hundred  times  her  woman's  pride  arrested 
her.  She  had  wept  —  but  never  cursed  me  —  as  she 
thought  that  of  all  the  gold  I  was  pouring  out  in  floods 
upon  nry  caprices,  not  one  drop  was  turned,  by  a  pass- 
ing memory,  to  help  the  lives  of  mother  and  child  in 
that  poor  home. 


The  Country  Doctor.  235 

"A  good  priest  of  the  Saint-Sulpice,  whose  merciful 
words  restored  her  calm  of  mind,  helped  her  at  this 
crisis,  and  she  had  come  to  diy  her  tears  in  the  shadow 
of  the  altars  where  she  sought  for  hope.  The  anguish 
I  had  poured  into  her  heart  was  insensibly  appeased. 
One  day  she  overheard  her  child  repeat  the  words,  l  My 
father  !  '  —  words  that  she  had  never  taught  him  ;  and  in 
that  moment  she  forgave  me.  But,  through  grief  and 
tears,  through  daily  and  nightly  toil,  her  health  gave 
wa}\  Religion,  bringing  its  consolations  and  the  cour- 
age to  bear  the  woes  of  life,  h|td  come  too  late.  She 
was  attacked  with  heart-disease,  caused  by  grief,  by 
the  expectant  hope  of  my  return,  —  a  hope  forever 
rising  and  forever  crushed.  At  last,  feeling  that  she 
was  near  the  end,  she  wrote  me  from  her  death-bed 
those  few  short  words,  free  from  reproach,  inspired  b}' 
religion  and  also  by  her  belief  in  me.  She  knew,  she 
said,  I  was  more  blind  than  wicked ;  she  even  went  so 
far  as  to  blame  herself  for  the  woman's  pride  that  car- 
ried her  too  far.  '  If  I  had  written  earlier,'  she  said, 
'  perhaps  we  might  have  had  time  to  make  our  child 
legitimate  bj*  marriage.' 

"  Monsieur,  beside  that  bed  where  I  learned  to  know 
the  value  of  a  devoted  heart,  I  changed  forever.  I  was 
at  an  age  when  the  eyes  still  weep.  During  the  last 
days  of  that  precious  life,  my  actions  and  my  tears 
testified  to  the  repentance  of  a  man  who  was  stricken 
to  the  heart.  I  recognized  too  late  that  soul  of  quality 
which  the  frivolities  of  the  world,  the  emptiness  and 
selfishness  of  women  of  fashion  had  taught  me  to  desire 
and  prompted  me  to  seek.  Weary  of  shams,  weary  of 
listening  to  lies,  I  had  asked  for  love,  the  true  love  of 


230  The  Country  Doctor. 

which  fictitious  passions  had  driven  me  to  dream ;  and 
it  was  here,  killed  b}T  me ;  I  could  not  keep  it,  though 
it  still  was  mine. 

'  k  Four  years'  experience  had  revealed  to  me  my  true 
character.     My  temperament,  the  nature  of  my  imag- 
ination, my   religious   principles,   dormant  rather  than 
destroyed,  m}7  style  of  mind,  my  reserved  and  sensitive 
heart,  — all  these  had  been  leading  me  for  some  time  past 
to  solve  the  troubles  of  m}*  life  in  the  enjoyments  of  the 
heart,  and  to  spend  the  passions  of  my  nature  in  the 
delights  of  family  life,  the  truest  of  all  delights.     By 
dint  of  floundering  in  the  void  of  existence  without  an 
object,  of  pursuing   pleasures  devoid  of  all  the  senti- 
ments that  ought  to  embellish  them,  the  thought  of  a 
home    life    had    lately    roused    my   keenest    emotions. 
Thus  the  change  which  now  took  place  in  my  life  and 
morals  was  lasting,  though  sudden.     My  southern  na- 
ture, deteriorating  under  the  influence  of  a  life  in  Paris, 
would  assuredly  not  have  led  me  to  pity  the  fate  of  a 
deserted  girl  if  some  trifler  had  related  it  in  a  merry 
company,  —  in  France,   the  horror  of  a   crime  disap- 
pears in  the  wit  of  a  clever  saying,  —  but  in  presence 
of  this  celestial  creature,  who  was  to  me  without  re- 
proach,  all  sophistries   were  silenced :    the  coffin  was 
there  ;  my  child  smiled  at  me,  not  knowing  that  I  had 
killed  its  mother.     She   died ;   she   died   happy  in   the 
knowledge  that  I  loved  her,  and  that  in  this  new  love 
nothing  was  due  to  pity,  nor  even  to  the  tie  that  now 
united  us  so  closety.    Never  shall  I  forget  the  last  hours 
of  that  dying  life,  when,  with  love  reconquered  and  her 
mother-heart  at  rest,  her  sorrows  ceased.     The  plenty 
and  the  luxury  with  which  she  was  surrounded,  the  joy 


The  Country  Doctor.  237 

of  her  child,  who  seemed  more  lovely  in  the  pretty  gar- 
ments of  his  age,  were  to  her  the  pledges  of  a  happ}7 
future  for  the  little  being  in  whom  she  thought  to  live 
again. 

"The  vicar  of  Saint-Sulpice,  a  witness  to  my  despair, 
made  it  all  the  deeper  by  giving  me  no  empty  consola- 
tions ;  he  laid  the  gravity  of  my  obligations  before  me. 
But  I  did  not  need  a  spur ;  my  conscience  spoke  loudly 
enough.  A  woman  had  nobly  trusted  me  ;  I  had  lied  to 
her  in  sa}7ing  that  I  loved  her,  and  then  I  had  betrayed 
her.  I  had  caused  the  sorrows  and  misfortunes  of  a 
poor  girl  who,  having  accepted  the  humiliations  of  the 
world  for  my  sake,  ought  to  have  been  sacred  to  me. 
She  died  forgiving  me,  forgetting  all  her  wrongs,  for 
she  rested  on  the  promises  of  a  man  who  had  already 
broken  his  word  to  her.  After  giving  me  her  girlish 
faith,  Agathe  found  in  her  heart  another  faith  to  give 
me,  the  faith  of  a  mother.  Oh  !  monsieur,  that  child  ! 
her  child  !  God  alone  knows  what  it  was  to  me.  The 
dear  little  being,  like  its  mother,  was  graceful  in  all  its 
movements,  in  its  speech,  in  its  ideas ;  but  to  me  — ' 
it  was  more  than  a  child.  It  was  my  pardon,  my 
honor.  I  cherished  it  like  a  father,  but  I  longed  to 
love  it  as  its  mother  would  have  loved  it ;  I  thought  my 
remorse  would  change  to  joy  if  I  could  make  it  feel  it 
had  never  lost  its  mother's  breast.  Thus  I  was  bound 
to  my  son  by  every  human  tie,  and  every  religious 
hope.  I  had  in  my  heart  all  the  tenderness  that  God 
has  given  to  mothers.  The  voice  of  the  child  made  me 
quiver  ;  I  looked  at  him  for  hours  as  he  lay  asleep,  with 
an  ever-springing  joy  ;  often  m}T  tears  fell  on  his  brow. 
I  taught  him  to  come  to  me  and  say  his  prayers  on  my 


238  The  Country  Doctor. 

bed  as  soon  as  he  waked  in  the  morning.  What  sweet 
emotions  the  pure  and  simple  prayer  of  our  Lord  uttered 
by  the  pure  fresh  lips  of  the  child  have  given  me,  — 
but  also,  what  terrible  anguish !  One  morning,  after 
saying,  '  Our  Father,  who  art  in  heaven,'  he  stopped  : 
'Why  not  "our  mother?'"  he  asked  me.  The  words 
overpowered  me.  I  adored  my  son,  but  I  had  cast 
more  than  one  fatal  misfortune  upon  his  life.  Though 
the  laws  recognize  the  faults  of  youth,  and  have  in  a 
measure  protected  them,  by  giving  (with  some  unwill- 
ingness) a  legal  existence  to  natural  children,  the  world 
has  added  the  support  of  insurmountable  prejudices  to 
the  reluctance  of  the  law. 

"  From  this  period  of  my  life,  monsieur,  come  the 
serious  reflections  I  have  made  on  the  basis  of  soci- 
eties, on  their  machinery,  on  the  duties  of  man,  and 
the  morality  which  ought  to  actuate  every  citizen. 
Genius  apprehends  at  once  the  ties  which  bind  the 
soul  of  man  to  the  destinies  of  society  ;  religion  in- 
spires pure  minds  with  the  principles  necessary  to  hap- 
piness ;  but  repentance  alone  can  imprint  them  on  an 
ardent  and  impetuous  imagination  :  repentance  enlight- 
ened me.  I  lived  for  a  child,  and  through  that  child  I 
was  led  to  meditate  on  great  social  questions.  I  re- 
solved to  supply  him  in  advance  with  every  means  of 
success,  and  thus  pave  a  sure  way  for  his  future  eleva- 
tion. I  had  him  taught  English,  German,  Italian,  Span- 
ish, and  surrounded  him  with  persons  of  those  countries 
whose  business  it  was  to  make  him  acquire  from  in- 
fancy the  pronunciation  of  each  language.  To  my 
great  jo}T,  I  found  him  a  child  of  excellent  disposition, 
and  I  made  the  most  of  it  by  instructing  him  while  I 


The  Country  Doctor.  239 

amused  him.  I  endeavored  to  let  not  a  single  false  idea 
get  into  his  mind ;  above  all,  I  tried  to  accustom  him 
early  to  use  his  intelligence.  I  sought  to  give  him  the 
clear  vision  that  generalizes  with  sure  yet  rapid  glance, 
and  the  patience  which  condescends  to  minute  details  ; 
and  finally,  I  taught  him  how  to  suffer  and  keep  silence. 
I  never  allowed  an  impure,  nor  even  an  unclean,  word 
to  be  uttered  in  his  hearing ;  it  was  my  first  care  that 
the  men  and  the  things  about  him  should  help  to  enno- 
ble him,  to  uplift  his  soul,  to  give  him  a  love  of  truth, 
a  horror  of  falsehood,  and  make  him  simple  and  natural 
in  language,  in  actions,  and  in  manners.  The  liveli- 
ness of  his  imagination  made  him  eagerly  seize  all  les- 
sons from  the  outside  ;  and  the  readiness  of  his  mental 
faculties  made  other  studies  easy  to  him.  What  a 
charming  plant  he  was  to  cultivate  !  Ah  !  what  happi- 
ness is  equal  to  a  mother's  !  I  understood  now  how  his 
mother  had  lived  and  borne  her  sorrows. 

"This,  monsieur,  was  the  great  event  of  my  life  ;  and 
now  I  come  to  the  catastrophe  which  drove  me  to  this 
district.  I  shall  tell  you  the  commonest  of  all  histories, 
and  the  simplest,  }Tet  to  me  it  is  terrible. 

"  After  giving,  for  several  years,  all  my  thoughts  and 
care  to  the  child  of  whom  I  sought  to  make  a  man,  my 
solitude  began  to  frighten  me  ;  my  son  was  growing 
up,  he  would  soon  leave  me.  Love  is  the  principle  of 
existence  in  my  soul.  I  felt  the  need  of  affection,  a 
need  ever  disappointed,  }Tet  ever  reviving  and  growing 
stronger  with  age.  I  had  in  me  all  the  conditions  for 
a  true  attachment.  I  had  been  tried  ;  I  knew  the  mean- 
ing of  constancy,  and  the  happiness  of  turning  a  sacrifice 
into  a  pleasure  ;  the  woman  I  loved  must  needs  be  first 


240  The  Country  Doctor. 

in  our  joint  actions  and  in  all  my  thoughts.  I  delighted 
in  imagining  a  love  that  should  reach  the  degree  of  cer- 
taint}T  when  emotions  so  interpenetrate  two  beings  that 
happiness  passes  into  the  life,  the  look,  the  words,  and 
is  no  longer  an  external  agitation.  Love  is  then  to  the 
life  what  religion  is  to  the  soul ;  it  inspires  it,  sustains 
and  enlightens  it.  I  interpreted  conjugal  love  differently 
from  other  men  ;  I  felt  that  its  beauty,  its  glory,  lay  pre- 
cisely in  those  things  which  prove  the  ruin  of  man}^  house- 
holds. I  keenly  felt  the  moral  grandeur  of  a  double 
life  so  closely  shared  that  the  common  acts  of  existence 
should  afford  no  obstacle  to  the  permanence  of  feeling. 

"  But  where  find  hearts  beating  so  perfectly  with 
isochronous  movement  (pardon  the  scientific  term)  that 
such  celestial  union  could  be  brought  about?  If  they 
exist,  nature  or  chance  throws  them  so  far  asunder  that 
the}'  cannot  join ;  or  they  know  each  other  too  late  and 
are  too  soon  separated  by  death.  Such  fatality  must 
have  a  meaning,  but  I  have  never  searched  for  it.  I 
suffer  too  much  from  m}-  wounds  to  stud}'  them.  Per- 
haps perfect  happiness  is  a  prodigy  that  our  species 
cannot  perpetuate. 

"  My  desire  for  a  marriage  of  this  kind  had  other 
motives.  I  was  without  friends.  To  me  the  world  was 
a  desert.  There  is  something  about  me  which  impedes 
the  tender  phenomenon  of  the  union  of  souls.  Persons 
have  sought  me  out,  but  nothing  has  ever  kept  them 
near  me,  no  matter  what  advances  I  made  towards 
them.  With  many  men,  I  have  silenced  my  sense  of 
what  the  world  calls  superiority ;  I  walked  at  their 
pace,  adopted  their  ideas,  laughed  with  their  laugh, 
and  made  the  best  of  their  faults  of  character.    If  I  had 


The  Country  Doctor.  241 

attained  to  fame  I  would  have  sold  it  to  them  for  a 
little  affection.  These  men  left  me  without  a  regret. 
Snares  and  sufferings  are  all  that  Paris  holds  for  hearts 
that  seek  true  sentiments.  Wherever  I  turned  in  social 
life  the  earth  crumbled  under  my  feet.  To  some  per- 
sons my  kindliness  meant  weakness  ;  yet  if  I  showed 
the  talons  of  a  man  conscious  of  the  strength  to  grasp 
authority,  the}'  thought  me  wicked.  To  others,  the  hap- 
py laugh  which  ceases  at  twenty  and  which  we  are  half- 
ashamed  to  indulge  in  later,  was  a  source  of  ridicule ; 
I  amused  them.  In  these  days  the  world  is  bored,  3-et 
it  will  have  gravity  in  its  most  trifling  intercourse.  It 
is  a  horrible  epoch,  which  bows  before  the  polished, 
cold  and  commonplace  man  whom  it  hates,  and  }ret 
obe3Ts.  I  discovered  later  the  reason  of  these  appar- 
ent inconsistencies.  Mediocrity,  monsieur,  is  sufficient 
for  the  ordinary  purposes  of  life  ;  it  is  the  daily  garb 
of  society ;  all  that  emerges  from  the  soft  shadow 
cast  by  commonplace  people  is  too  striking  for  the 
daily  uses  of  the  world ;  genius  and  originality  are 
jewels  which  it  locks  away,  and  onty  wears  on  great 
occasions. 

"  And  so,  monsieur,  solitary  as  I  was  in  the  midst 
of  Paris,  finding  nothing  to  satisfy  me  in  the  world 
around  me,  which  took  my  all  and  returned  me  nothing, 
unable  to  have  enough  of  my  child  to  fill  my  soul  be- 
cause I  was  a  man  and  not  a  woman,  —  it  came  to  pass 
that  one  day,  when  I  felt  my  life  growing  chill  and  I 
bent  beneath  the  weight  of  w$  secret  wretchedness,  I 
met  the  woman  who  was  to  make  me  know  love  in  all 
its  violence,  the  honor  of  a  love  avowed,  love,  with  its 
teeming  hopes  of  happiness  —  in  short,  Love  ! 

16 


242  The  Country  Doctor. 

"  I  had  renewed  my  intimacy  with  the  old  friend  of 
nry  father  who  formerly  looked  after  nry  interests.  It 
was  in  his  house  that  I  met  the  }'oung  girl  for  whom  I 
felt  the  love  that  was  to  last  as  long  as  life  itself.  The 
older  a  man  grows,  monsieur,  the  more  he  recognizes 
the  immense  influence  of  ideas  upon  events.  Certain 
estimable  prejudices,  growing  out  of  noble  religious 
ideas,  were  the  actual  cause  of  nry  great  misfortune. 
The  young  girl  I  speak  of  belonged  to  an  extremely 
pious  family,  whose  Catholic  opinions  originated  in  the 
spirit  of  a  sect  improperly  called  Jansenist,  which  was 
formerly  the  cause  of  much  ..rouble  in  France,  —  3011 
know  why  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Genestas. 

'_'  Jansenius,  bishop  of  Ypres,  wrote  a  book  supposed 
to  contain  teachings  in  conflict  with  those  of  the  Holy 
See.  Later,  the  actual  text  of  the  book  was  thought 
not  to  be  heretical ;  and  some  writers  even  went  so  far 
as  to  deny  the  existence  of  an}T  such  doctrines.  This 
originally  insignificant  dispute  gave  birth  to  two  parties 
in  the  Gallican  church,  —  that  of  the  Jansenists,  and 
that  of  the  Jesuits.  There  were  great  men  on  both  sides. 
It  was  a  struggle  between  two  powerful  bodies.  The 
Jansenists  accused  the  Jesuits  of  teaching  a  relaxed 
morality,  and  themselves  affected  an  excessive  purity 
of  manners  and  principles  ;  they  were,  in  France,  a 
species  of  Catholic  Puritan,  if  the  terms  can  be  allied. 
During  the  French  Revolution,  there  grew  up,  as  a 
result  of  the  unimportant  schism  produced  b}7  the  Con- 
cordat, a  body  of  purer  Catholics,  who  would  not  recog- 
nize the  bishops  appointed  by  the  revolutionary  power 
and  the  transactions  of  the  Pope.     This  faithful  flock 


The  Country  Doctor.  243 

formed  what  was  called  the  'little  church,'  whose  shep- 
herds taught,  as  did  the  Jansenists,  the  exemplary 
regularity  of  life  and  conduct  which  appears  to  be  a 
law  necessary  to  the  existence  of  all  proscribed  and 
persecuted  sects.  Several  Jansenist  families  belonged 
to  the  '  little  church.'  The  parents  of  this  young  girl 
were  among  those  who  embraced  the  two  puritanisms  ; 
both  equally  stern,  and  giving  to  the  character  and 
countenance  of  their  followers  an  imposing  dignity  ;  for 
it  is  the  propeily  of  absolute  doctrines  to  ennoble  simple 
actions  by  connecting  them  with  the  future  life.  From 
a  sense  of  that  life  comes  a  splendid  and  winning  purit}' 
of  heart,  a  respect  for  one's  self  and  others,  a  delicate 
sense  of  justice  and  injustice  ;  also  a  vast  charitj',  at 
the  same  time  a  strict  equit3r,  na}',  an  implacable  one ; 
and  a  profound  horror  of  every  vice,  above  all  for  false- 
hood, which  includes  them  all. 

"I  cannot  recall  any  moments  in  my  life  more  de- 
lightful than  those  during  which,  at  the  house  of  nry  old 
friend,  I  saw  and  admired  for  the  first  time  this  timid, 
true  3'oung  girl,  trained  to  obedience,  in  whom  all  the 
special  virtues  of  that  faith  shone  forth  without  pro- 
ducing in  her  any  sign  of  pride.  Her  supple  and  slen- 
der figure  lent  a  grace  to  her  movements  that  no 
austerity  could  hide ;  the  outline  of  her  face  had  the 
distinction  and  her  features  the  delicacy  of  a  young  girl 
of  noble  blood  ;  her  glance  was  gentle  }*et  proud,  her 
brow  calm  ;  her  head  was  crowned  with  abundant  hair, 
simply  braided,  and  yet  it  served,  unknown  to  her,  as  an 
adornment.  Captain,  she  was  to  me  the  type  of  a  per- 
fection which  each  man  finds  in  the  woman  who  inspires 
him  with  love.     To  love  at  all  must  he  not  see  in  her 


244  The  Country  Doctor. 

the  quality  of  that  beaut}T  which  his  individual  nature 
dreams  of,  and  prefigures?  When  I  spoke  to  her,  she 
answered  simply,  without  alacrity  nor  yet  false  modesty, 
—  unaware  of  the  pleasure  which  the  harmony  of  her 
voice  with  her  exterior  beauty  gave  me.  These  angels 
all  bear  the  same  signs,  by  which  the  heart  knows  them  ; 
the  same  sweetness  of  voice,  the  same  tenderness  in 
the  eyes,  the  same  purity  of  the  skin,  and  something 
pretty  in  the  gestures.  Those  gifts  all  harmonize  and 
blend,  and  unite  to  charm  although  we  are  not  able  to 
seize  the  essence  of  their  charm.  A  divine  soul  breathes 
in  every  movement.  I  loved  her  passionately.  This 
love  awakened  and  then  satisfied  the  feelings  it  aroused  : 
ambition,  fortune,  all  my  dreams  were  realized.  Beau- 
tiful, noble,  rich,  and  well  brought  up,  she  possessed 
advantages  which  the  world  arbitrarily  demands  in  a 
woman  placed  in  the  high  position  I  desired  to  reach ; 
well  educated,  she  was  able  to  express  her  thoughts 
with  the  sparkling  eloquence  that  is  so  rare  and  yet  so 
common  in  France,  where  the  pretty  words  of  many 
women  are  mere  emptiness,  while  hers  betra}Ted  a  wit 
that  was  full  of  sense.  Above  all,  she  had  a  deep  sense 
of  her  own  dignity  that  made  others  respect  her ;  I 
know  of  no  quality  more  beautiful  in  a  wife  — 

"I  pause,  captain;  who  can  picture  the  woman  he 
loves !  between  her  and  the  man  who  loves  her  nrys- 
teries  pre-exist  which  escape  analysis. 

"  I  took  my  old  friend  into  mj*  confidence;  he  pre- 
sented me  to  the  family,  and  gave  me  the  support  of 
his  honorable  character.  Though  I  was  received  at  first 
with  the  cold  reserve  peculiar  to  exclusive  persons,  who, 
however,  never  give  up  a  friend  they  once  accept,  later  on 


The  Country  Doctor.  245 

I  came  to  be  more  familiarly  welcomed.  No  doubt  I  owed 
this  evidence  of  regard  to  the  conduct  I  pursued  under 
these  circumstances.  Notwithstanding  my  passion,  I 
did  nothing  to  lower  myself  in  my  own  eyes  ;  I  showed 
no  servile  desire  to  please ;  I  did  not  natter  those  on 
whom  my  fate  depended.  I  showed  myself  for  what  I 
was,  —  and,  above  all,  a  man.  After  my  character  be- 
came known,  my  old  friend,  as  anxious  as  I  was  nryself 
to  put  an  end  to  my  sad  celibacy,  spoke  to  the  father  of 
my  wishes ;  they  were  favorably  received,  though  still 
with  the  cautious  reserve  that  people  of  the  world  seldom 
lay  aside.  From  a  desire  to  help  me  to  a  '  good  mar- 
riage,' —  an  expression  which  turns  a  solemn  act  into  a 
commercial  enterprise,  where  each  side  seeks  to  deceive 
the  other,  —  the  old  man  kept  silence  on  what  he  called 
the  error  of  my  youth.  He  feared  that  the  existence  of 
my  child  might  rouse  moral  objections  in  comparison 
with  which  all  questions  of  fortune  were  as  nothing,  and 
so  lead  to  a  rupture  of  the  marriage.  He  was  right. 
'  It  is,'  he  said  to  me,  '  a  matter  which  can  very  well  be 
settled  between  you  and  your  wife,  from  whom  }'ou  will 
easily  obtain  absolution.'  To  silence  my  scruples,  he 
employed  all  the  specious  arguments  which  the  ordi- 
nary wisdom  of  the  world  suggests.  I  must  declare, 
monsieur,  that  my  own  feelings  prompted  me  to  lay  the 
whole  matter  lo}Tally  before  the  head  of  the  family  ;  but 
the  inflexibility  of  his  character  led  me  to  pause  and 
reflect,  and  the  possible  consequences  of  my  avowal 
alarmed  me.  I  basely  compromised  with  in 3-  conscience  ; 
I  resolved  to  wait,  and  win  from  my  future  wife  such 
decided  proofs  of  affection  that  my  happiness  could  not 
be  jeopardized  by  the  confession.     The  resolution  to 


246  The  Country  Doctor. 

avow  all  at  a  favorable  moment  seemed  to  justify  the 
sophistries  of  the  world  and  of  my  old  friend. 

u  I  was  now  received  by  the  parents  of  the  }Toung 
girl  on  the  footing  of  a  future  husband,  though  with- 
out the  knowledge  of  the  friends  of  the  family.  The 
distinctive  characteristic  of  these  pious  families  is  un- 
limited reserve ;  they  keep  silence  about  everything, 
even  matters  that  are  of  no  consequence.  You  would 
hardty  believe,  monsieur,  how  much  this  gentle  gravit}7, 
mingling  with  every  action,  adds  depth  to  the  charac- 
ter of  their  feelings.  Among  such  families  all  occupa- 
tions are  useful ;  the  women  employ  their  leisure  in 
making  clothes  for  the  poor  ;  the  talk  is  never  frivolous  ; 
laughter,  indeed,  is  not  banished,  but  the  jests  are  sim- 
ple and  without  acrimony.  At  first,  the  conversation, 
stripped  of  the  piquancy  which  gossip  and  scandalous 
tales  give  to  the  conversations  of  the  world,  seemed 
strange  to  me.  The  father  and  uncle  read  the  news- 
papers, but  my  future  wife  had  never  cast  her  eyes 
upon  those  pages  which  all,  even  the  most  harmless, 
tell  of  the  crimes  and  vices  of  the  communitj^.  Later, 
however,  my  soul  received  from  that  pure  atmosphere 
the  same  impression  which  our  e}'es  receive  from  neu- 
tral tints,  —  a  soft  repose,  a  soothing  quietude.  The 
life  was  outwardly  one  of  frightful  monoton}'.  The  in- 
terior aspect  of  the  house  had  a  chilling  influence  ;  eveiy 
morning  I  saw  the  furniture,  even  the  pieces  that  were 
in  daily  use,  ranged  exactly  in  their  proper  places,  and 
the  smallest  articles  in  scrupulous  order. 

"  And  yet,  this  manner  of  life  won  upon  me.  After 
conquering  the  first  repugnance  of  a  man  accustomed 
to  the  pleasures  of  variet}7  in  the, luxury  and  stir  of 


The  Country  Doctor.  247 

Parisian  life,  I  perceived  the  advantages  of  such  an 
existence.  It  develops  ideas  to  their  fullest  extent, 
and  stimulates  involuntary  meditation  :  the  heart  rules, 
nothing  distracts  it,  it  comes  finally  to  the  perception  of 
something,  I  know  not  what,  as  limitless  as  the  ocean. 
In  such  a  life,  as  in  a  cloister,  where  the  same  things  are 
ever  and  ever  recurring,  thoughts  detach  themselves 
from  things,  and  return,  unshackled,  to  the  infinitude  of 
feelings.  To  a  man  as  sincerely  in  love  as  I  was,  the 
silence,  the  simplicity  of  life,  the  almost  monastic  repe- 
tition of  the  same  acts  performed  at  the  same  hours,  all 
gave  greater  force  to  love.  In  such  deep  calm,  the 
slightest  motion,  a  word,  a  gesture,  became  of  enormous 
interest.  Nothing  being  forced  or  conventional  in  the 
expression  of  feelings,  a  smile,  a  glance  gave,  to  those 
whose  hearts  were  one,  inexhaustible  methods  of  ex- 
pressing themselves.  I  began  to  understand  that  lan- 
guage, with  all  its  magnificent  possibilities,  has  nothing 
so  varied  or  so  eloquent  as  the  communion  of  glances 
and  the  harmony  of  smiles.  Many  a  time  did  I  send  my 
soul  to  my  lips  or  to  my  eyes,  and  tell  the  ardor  of  my 
love  in  speechless  utterance  to  the  young  girl  who  sat 
beside  me,  —  always  tranquil,  and  ignorant  of  the  secret 
meaning  of  my  presence  ;  for  her  parents  wished  to  leave 
her  free  to  choose  in  the  most  important  act  of  her  life. 
But  no  sooner  does  a  true  passion  enter  into  us  than 
the  mere  presence  of  the  woman  we  love  satisfies  our 
most  violent  desires.  When  admitted  to  her  presence 
our  happiness  is  like  that  of  a  Christian  in  communion 
with  God.  To  see  her,  is  it  not  to  adore  her?  If  for 
me,  more  than  for  any  other,  it  was  torture  to  be  denied 
the  right  to  utter  the  transports  of  my  heart,  if  I  was 


248  The  Country  Doctor. 

forced  to  bury  in  its  depths  those  burning  words  which 
fail  to  render  the  more  burning  emotions  the}T  endeavor 
to  express,  3*et  this  constraint,  by  imprisoning  my  pas- 
sion, made  it  rush  forth  more  vehemently  in  little  things, 
and  the  trifling  circumstances  of  our  common  life  grew 
to  have  an  excessive  value.  To  admire  her  for  hours 
together ;  to  wait  for  an  answer  and  listen  with  delight 
to  the  modulations  of  her  voice,  that  I  might  find  within 
them  the  secret  of  her  thoughts  ;  to  watch  the  trembling 
of  her  fingers  as  I  gave  her  some  object  for  which  she 
searched  ;  to  find  pretexts  to  lightly  touch  her  dress,  her 
hair,  or  take  her  hand,  or  make  her  speak  more  than 
she  wished  to  speak,  —  all  these  nothings  were  great 
events  to  me.  During  such  hours  of  ecstasy,  the  eyes, 
the  gestures,  the  voice  conve3T  to  the  soul  mysterious 
proofs  of  love.  Such  was  my  language,  —  the  only 
utterance  which  the  virginal  reserve  of  this  young  girl 
permitted.  For  her  manners  never  changed  ;  she  was 
with  me  as  a  sister  with  a  brother ;  only,  as  my  passion 
grew,  the  contrast  between  my  words  and  hers,  between 
her  looks  and  mine,  became  more  striking,  and  I  ended 
by  divining  that  her  timid  silence  was  the  only  means 
by  which  she  was  able  to  express  her  feelings.  Was 
she  not  always  in  the  salon  when  I  came?  did  she 
not  stay  there  till  my  visit,  perhaps  expected  and  de- 
sired, was  over?  such  silent  tribute,  did  it  not  reveal 
the  secret  of  her  innocent  soul?  surely,  she  listened 
to  my  words  with  a  pleasure  she  knew  not  how  to 
hide. 

"  This  reserve  in  our  manners,  and  the  repression  of 
our  love,  at  last  put  the  parents  out  of  patience.  Seeing 
that  I  was  nearly  as  timid  as  their  daughter,  they  judged 


Tlie  Country  Doctor.  249 

favorably  of  my  character,  and  thought  me  worth}^  of 
their  esteem.  The  father  and  mother  spoke  to  my  old 
friend,  and  said  man}-  flattering  things ;  they  called  me 
their  adopted  son,  and  praised  more  especially  my  moral 
principles.  It  is  quite  true  that  I  had  renewed  my 
youth.  In  that  pure  and  religious  circle  the  man  of 
thirty- two  became  once  more  the  youth  full  of  beliefs. 
Summer  was  nearly  over  ;  the  business  which  had  kept 
the  family  in  Paris,  contrary  to  their  habits,  was  fin- 
ished, and  in  the  month  of  September  they  were  to 
leave  for  a  countr}T-seat  in  Auvergne,  where  the  father 
invited  me  to  spend  two  months  in  an  old  chateau  nest- 
ling among  the  mountains  of  the  Cantal.  When  this 
cordial  invitation  was  given,  I  made  no  immediate  an- 
swer. IVTy  hesitation  brought  me  the  sweetest,  most 
delightful  involuntary  expression  by  which  a  modest 
young  girl  ever  betrayed  the  secrets  of  her  heart.  Eve- 
lina—  oh,  God!"  exclaimed  Benassis,  who  became 
silent  and  thoughtful. 

"  Forgive  me,  Captain  Bluteau,"  he  resumed,  after  a 
a  long  pause.  "For  the  first  time  in  twelve  years  I 
have  uttered  a  name  that  hovers  ever  in  my  thoughts 
—  that  a  voice  cries  to  me  when  I  sleep.  Evelina, 
then,  since  I  have  named  her,  raised  her  head  with  a 
movement  whose  rapidity  contrasted  strongly  with  the 
innate  quietness  of  all  her  movements.  She  looked  at 
me  without  pride,  but  with  a  sort  of  pained  anxiet}' ; 
then  she  blushed,  and  lowered  her  eyes.  The  very 
slowness  with  which  the  lids  were  dropped  gave  me  a 
pleasure  I  know  not  how  to  express,  a  pleasure  hitherto 
unknown  to  me.  I  could  only  answer  in  a  broken  voice. 
The  emotions  of  my  heart  spoke  straight  to  hers,  and 


250  The  Country  Doctor. 

she  thanked  me  with  a  look  that  was  soft  and  almost 
tearful.     We  had  told  each  other  all. 

"  I  went  with  the  family  to  their  country-place.  From 
the  day  when  our  hearts  understood  each  other,  all 
tilings  about  us  wore  a  new  aspect ;  nothing  now  was 
without  a  meaning.  Though  true  love  is  ever  the  same, 
it  takes  the  form  of  our  ideas,  and  is  alwa}-s  like  and 
unlike  to  itself  in  each  being ;  for  in  each  the  passion 
is  a  unique  growth,  expressing  individual  s3Tmpathies. 
The  poet  and  the  philosopher  alone  know  the  depth  of 
meaning  in  a  definition  of  love  now  grown  common- 
place, namely,  the  egotism  of  a  double  self.  We  love 
ourselves  in  that  other.  But  if  the  expression  of  love  is 
so  diverse  that  each  pair  of  lovers  have  not  their  like 
throughout  the  centuries,  love  nevertheless  follows  a 
law  in  its  wa}Ts  of  utterance.  All  young  girls,  even  the 
most  chaste,  use  the  same  language,  and  differ  only  in 
the  grace  of  their  ideas.  But  there  was  this  exception 
in  the  case  of  Evelina :  to  aii3T  other  young  girl  the 
innocent  betrayal  of  her  emotions  would  have  seemed 
natural ;  to  her  it  was  a  concession  made  to  tumultuous 
feelings,  which  overcame  the  habitual  calm  of  her  relig- 
ious youth  ;  each  furtive  glance  was  violently  snatched 
from  her  b}'  love.  This  constant  struggle  between  her 
heart  and  her  principles  gave  to  the  slightest  action  of 
her  life,  so  tranquil  on  the  surface  yet  so  deepty  stirred 
within,  a  steadfast  character,  greatly  superior  to  the  ex- 
aggerations of  most  young  girls  whose  manners  soon 
take  the  tone  of  the  society  about  them. 

"  During  the  journe}',  Evelina  observed  the  beauties 
of  nature  and  talked  of  them  with  enthusiasm.  When 
we  are  forbidden  to  express  the  joy  the  presence  of  our 


The  Country  Doctor.  251 

beloved  gives  us  we  ponr  the  feelings  that  overflow  our 
hearts  upon  external  objects ;  and  those  our  hidden 
feelings  glorify.  The  poetry  of  the  landscape  which 
flitted  past  our  eyes  was,  for  each  of  us,  an  interpreter 
fully  understood  ;  the  praises  that  we  gave  it  contained, 
to  our  own  souls,  the  secrets  of  our  love.  Evelina's 
mother  amused  herself,  ever}^  now  and  then,  with  a  few 
feminine  sallies  at  her  daughter's  expense.  '  You 
have  travelled  through  this  valley  twenty  times,  my 
dear  child,  without  seeming  to  admire  it,'  she  said, 
after  some  speech  of  Evelina's  that  seemed  to  her  too 
warm.  *  Mother,  I  was  not  then  old  enough  to  under- 
stand this  sort  of  beauty.'  Forgive  me  for  relating 
this  trifle,  which  can  have  no  charm  for  you,  captain  ; 
to  me  the  simple  answer  brought  untold  happiness, 
welling  up  in  the  glance  she  gave  me.  So,  each  village 
lighted  by  the  rising  sun,  each  ivy-covered  ruin  that  we 
looked  at  together,  served  to  imprint  more  deeply  on 
our  souls,  by  the  memoiy  of  a  material  thing,  the  ten- 
der emotions  in  which,  for  us,  our  future  la}'. 

ct  We  reached  the  chateau,  where  I  sta}Ted  about  foily 
da}Ts.  That  short  period,  monsieur,  is  the  only  time 
of  complete  happiness  which  heaven  has  granted  me. 
I  tasted  jo}Ts  unknown  to  the  dwellers  in  a  city.  I  felt 
the  pleasure  two  lovers  feel  in  living  under  the  same 
roof;  marrying  each  other,  as  it  were,  before  marriage, 
walking  together  along  the  fields,  able  to  be  at  times 
alone,  sitting  beneath  a  tree  in  the  depths  of  some 
lovely  valle}",  looking  at  the  buildings  of  an  old  mill, 
snatching  some  half-given  confidence  from  the  tender 
talks  that  lead  us  a  little  more,  and  more,  into  each 
other's  hearts.     Ah  !  monsieur,  life  in  the  open  air,  the 


252  The  Country  Doctor. 

beauties  of  heaven  and  earth,  harmonize  so  well  with 
the  delights  and  the  perfections  of  the  soul !  To  smile 
upon  each  other  as  we  contemplate  the  skies,  to  mingle 
quiet  speech  with  the  song  of  birds  beneath  the  dewy 
foliage,  to  loiter  homeward  with  reluctant  step,  listen- 
ing to  the  bells  that  summon  us  all  too  soon  ;  to  admire 
together  some  glimpse  of  scenery,  follow  the  capricious 
flight  of  insects,  or  watch  the  golden-fly,  that  fragile 
creation  allied  to  pure  and  loving  girlhood,  — is  not  this 
to  be  daily  drawn  a  little  nearer  towards  heaven?  To 
me,  those  fort}'  days  hold  memories  that  color  all  my 
life,  — memories  the  more  beautiful  and  infinite,  because 
never  again  was  I  to  meet  with  comprehension.  To-day 
many  a  scene,  simple  apparent!}',  though  full  of  bitter 
meaning  for  a  wounded  heart,  recalls  the  vanished  yet 
unforgotten  love.  Do  you  remember  the  sunset  light  on 
the  cottage  of  little  Jacques,  —  how  at  one  moment  the 
sunbeams  glorified  all  nature,  and  then,  suddenly,  the 
scene  grew  dark  and  gloom}'?  Those  aspects,  so  widely 
different,  showed  me  a  faithful  picture  of  this  period  of 
nry  life.  Monsieur,  I  received  from  Evelina  the  first,  the 
sole,  sublime  proof  of  love  that  an  innocent  girl  is  al- 
lowed to  give,  —  all  the  dearer  because  it  is  given  fur- 
tively ;  precious  promise  of  love,  the  echo  of  the  language 
spoken  in  a  better  world.  Sure,  then,  of  being  loved,  I 
swore  in  my  thoughts  to  tell  her  all,  to  keep  no  secret 
from  her.  I  felt  ashamed  that  I  had  delayed  so  long  to 
speak  to  her  of  the  troubles  I  had  brought  upon  myself. 
"  Unfortunately,  on  the  morrow  of  that  happy  day,  I 
received  a  letter  from  my  son's  tutor,  which  made  me 
tremble  for  the  life  so  clear  to  me.  I  left,  without  con- 
fiding my  secret  to  Evelina,  and  without  giving  her 


The  Country  Doctor.  253 

parents  any  other  reason  than  important  business.  My 
departure  alarmed  them.  Fearing  that  I  had  some 
entanglement  of  the  heart,  the}'  wrote  to  Paris  to  in- 
quire into  my  conduct.  Inconsistently  with  their  relig- 
ious principles,  they  distrusted  me  without  giving  me  a 
chance  to  meet  their  suspicions.  One  of  their  friends 
informed  them,  without  iny  knowledge,  of  the  events  of 
my  }routh,  exaggerated  my  errors,  and  dwelt  on  the 
existence  of  my  child,  which  I  had,  they  said,  intention- 
all}7  concealed.  When,  soon  after,  I  wrote  to  nry  in- 
tended father-in-law,  I  received  no  answer.  The  family 
returned  to  Paris  ;  1  called  at  the  house  and  was  not 
admitted.  Much  alarmed,  I  sent  my  old  friend  to  in- 
quire the  motives  of  a  conduct  I  could  not  understand. 
When  he  learned  them,  the  good  old  man  nobly  took 
the  whole  blame  of  my  silence  upon  himself,  tried  to 
defend  me,  but  did  no  good.  Motives  of  interest  and 
morality  were  too  powerful  in  the  family,  their  preju- 
dices too  fixed ;  it  was  impossible  to  change  their 
resolution. 

"My  despair  knew  no  bounds.  At  first  I  tried  to 
quell  the  storm  ;  but  my  letters  were  sent  back  to-  me 
unopened.  When  all  human  means  were  exhausted, 
when  the  father  and  mother  had  told  my  old  friend,  who 
was  in  truth  the  real  cause  of  nrv  misfortune,  that  they 
would  forever  refuse  their  daughter  to  a  man  who  had 
upon  his  conscience  the  death  of  a  woman  and  the  life 
of  a  natural  son,  even  if  Evelina  implored  them  on  her 
knees  —  then,  monsieur,  there  remained  to  me  but  one 
last  ray  of  hope,  feeble  as  the  willow  twig  to  which 
some  unhappy  wretch  clings  when  drowning.  I  dared 
to  hope  that  Evelina's  love  would  be  stronger  than  the 


254  The  Country  Doctor. 

resolution  of  her  parents.  Her  father  might  have  con- 
cealed from  her  his  motives  for  thus  killing  our  love  ;  I 
wished  her  to  decide  my  fate  on  a  knowledge  of  the  facts. 
I  wrote  to  her.  Alas  !  monsieur,  it  was  in  tears  and 
sorrow,  and  not  without  man}'  hesitations,  that  I  wrote 
the  only  love-letter  of  my  life.  I  have  but  a  vague 
remembrance  of  the  words  despair  dictated  to  me ; 
doubtless  I  told  my  Evelina  that  if  she  were  sincere  and 
true  she  could  not,  she  ought  not  to  love  any  man  but 
me  ;  otherwise  her  life  would  be  a  falsehood  ;  she  would 
be  false  to  her  future  husband  or  to  me.  I  asked  her, 
was  it  not  a  betra}Tal  of  all  the  womanly  virtues  to  deny 
to  a  lost  lover  the  faithfulness  she  would  have  given 
him  had  the  marriage,  already  celebrated  in  our  hearts, 
taken  place?  what  woman  would  not  think  it  dearer  to 
be  bound  by  the  promises  of  the  heart  than  by  the 
chains  of  law?  I  defended  my  errors,  appealing  to  the 
purity  of  innocence,  forgetting  nothing  that  could,  as  I 
thought,  soften  a  noble  and  generous  heart.  As  I  have 
told  you  all,  I  will  show  you  her  answer,  and  my  final 
reply." 

Benassis  rose,  and  went  to  his  own  room.  He  soon 
returned,  holding  in  his  hand  a  well  worn  portfolio, 
from  which  he  took,  not  without  strong  emotion,  a  few 
papers  carelessly  folded,  which  trembled  in  his  hand. 

"  Here  is  the  fatal  letter,"  he  said.  "  The  child  who 
wrote  the  words  did  not  know  what  value  the  very  pa- 
per that  contained  her  thoughts  would  have  for  me. 
Here,"  he  added,  showing  another  letter,  "is  the  last 
\\-\  that  my  anguish  drew  from  me  ;  30U  shall  judge  of 
it  presently.  My  old  friend  carried  my  supplication, 
delivered  it  secretly,  and  humiliated  his  gra}'  hairs  by 


The  Country  Doctor.  255 

imploring  Evelina  to  read  it  and  to  answer  it.     Here 
is  what  she  wrote  to  me  :  — 

"  'Monsieur,  — ' 

"  To  me  who  was  her  '  loved  one,'  the  chaste  name 
she  had  found  to  express  a  chaste  love  —  she  called  me 
monsieur!  That  one  word  told  all.  But  listen  to  the 
letter :  — 

"  '  It  is  cruel  for  a  young  girl  to  discover  the  duplicity  of 
a  man  to  whom  her  life  was  to  have  been  confided ;  never- 
theless, I  ought  to  forgive  you,  for  we  all  are  weak.  Your  let- 
ter has  touched  me;  but  do  not  write  again;  I  cannot  bear 
the  pain  it  causes  me.  We  are  parted  forever.  The  excuses 
you  offer  have  affected  me;  they  have  stifled  the  feeling  that 
had  risen  in  my  heart  against  you,  —  I  loved  so  much  to 
think  you  pure  !  But  you  and  I  are  too  feeble  against  my 
father's  will.  Yes,  monsieur,  I  have  dared  to  speak  in  your 
behalf.  To  beseech  my  parents  I  have  risen  above  the  great- 
est fear  I  ever  felt,  I  have  even  cast  aside  the  habits  of 
my  life.  And  now  I  yield  to  your  prayers ;  I  am  guilty  of 
doing  wrong  in  answering  you  without  my  father's  knowl- 
edge; but  my  mother  knows  of  it;  her  indulgence,  leaving 
me  free  to  be  this  one  last  moment  with  you,  proves  to  me 
how  much  she  loves  me,  and  strengthens  me  in  my  obedience 
to  the  wishes  of  my  family  —  which  I  was  very  near  to  dis- 
regarding. 

"  '  Monsieur,  I  write  to  you  for  the  first  and  last  time.  I  for- 
give you,  without  reserve,  for  the  sorrows  you  have  brought 
upon  my  life.  Yes,  you  are  right;  a  first  love  can  never  be 
effaced.  I  am  no  longer  a  pure  young  girl ;  I  could  never  be 
a  chaste  wife.  I  know  not  therefore  what  may  be  my  destiny. 
Monsieur,  the  year  that  you  have  filled  will  echo  through  my 
life;  but  I  will  not  blame  you.  I  shall  be  ever  loved  —  you 
say  —     Why  do  you  tell  me  so?     Can  those  words  calm  the 


256  The  Country  Doctor. 

troubled  soul  of  a  poor  solitary  girl?  Have  you  not  wrecked 
my  future  life,  and  given  me  memories  that  must  forever 
cling  to  me?  If,  now,  I  can  only  give  myself  to  Jesus,  will 
he  accept  a  bleeding  heart?  But  he  does  not  send  afflictions 
without  a  purpose;  they  have  a  meaning;  he  meant  to  call 
me  to  himself  —  to  him,  my  only  refuge.  Monsieur,  there  is 
nothing  left  for  me  in  life.  You  can  cheat  your  grief  witli 
the  natural  ambitions  of  men;  this  is  not  meant  as  a  re- 
proach, but  rather  as  a  sort  of  consolation.  I  think  that  if 
we  both  bear  to-day  a  heavy  burden,  my  share  is  the  heaviest. 
He  in  whom  I  put  my  trust,  and  of  whom  you  can  feel  no 
jealousy,  he  has  joined  our  lives  together,  and  he  puts  them 
asunder  according  to  his  will.  I  have  seen  that  your  relig- 
ious beliefs  were  not  based  upon  the  pure  and  living  faith 
that  alone  can  help  us  to  endure  our  earthly  woes.  Mon- 
sieur, if  God  deigns  to  hear  the  entreaties  of  my  fervent 
ceaseless  prayer,  he  will  grant  you  the  illuminations  of  his 
spirit. 

"'Farewell,  you  who  should  have  been  my  guide;  you, 
whom  I  called  my  loved  one  without  shame;  you,  for  whom  I 
still  can  pray  without  dishonor.  God  orders  our  lives  ac- 
cording to  his  will;  he  may  call  you  to  himself  before  me  : 
if  I  am  left  alone  in  the  world,  then,  monsieur,  confide  to  me 
your  child.' 

"This  letter,  full  of  generous  sentiments,  disappointed 
my  hopes,"  resumed  Benassis.  "  At  first  I  could  think 
only  of  my  sorrow  ;  later,  I  welcomed  the  balm  she  had 
tried  to  pour  into  my  wounds,  forgetting  herself.  But  in 
the  first  moments  of  my  despair  I  wrote  to  her  some- 
what harshly. 

"  '  Mademoiselle,  —  That  word  alone  will  tell  you  that 
I  resign  you  and  obey  you.  A  man  still  finds  some  sweet- 
ness, terrible  though  it  be,  in  obeying  the  woman  he  loves  — 
even  when  she  bids  him  leave  her.     You  are  right;  I  stand 


The  Country  Doctor.  257 

condemned  in  my  own  eyes.  Once,  I  cast  away  the  devotion 
of  a  young  girl ;  it  is  fitting  that  my  love  should  now  be 
rejected.  But  I  little  thought  that  the  only  woman  to  whom 
I  have  made  gift  of  my  soul  should  be  the  instrument  of  this 
vengeance.  I  could  not  have  suspected  such  harshness,  per- 
haps I  ought  to  say  such  virtue,  in  a  heart  which  seemed  to 
me  so  tender  and  so  loving.  At  this  moment  the  full  strength 
of  my  love  is  revealed  to  me;  it  survives  the  bitterest  of  all 
griefs,  — the  contempt  you  show  for  me  in  breaking,  without 
regret,  the  ties  that  bound  us. 

"  '  Farewell  forever.  I  keep  the  humble  pride  of  repent- 
ance ;  and  I  will  seek  a  way  to  expiate  the  errors  for  which  you, 
my  mediator  in  heaven,  are  without  pity.  God  may  be  less 
cruel.  My  sufferings  —  sufferings  filled  with  you  —  are  the 
punishment  of  a  wounded  heart  that  will  henceforth  bleed 
in  solitude.  Yes,  for  wounded  hearts,  silence  and  shade.  No 
other  image  of  love  can  enter  my  heart.  Though  I  am  not 
a  woman,  I  felt,  as  you  feel,  that  when  I  said,  "  I  love  thee," 
it  was  a  vow  for  life.  Yes,  those  words,  whispered  in  my 
beloved's  ear,  were  not  a  lie.  If  I  could  change,  your  con- 
tempt would  be  justified:  I  cannot ;  you  will  remain  the  idol 
of  my  solitary  life.  Repentance  and  love  are  virtues  that 
should  inspire  all  other  virtues;  and  so,  despite  the  gulf  that 
parts  us,  you  will  still  be  the  principle  of  my  actions.  Though 
you  have  filled  my  heart  with  bitterness,  no  bitter  thoughts 
of  you  are  in  it:  what  beginning  of  better  things  would  that 
be  which  did  not  purify  my  soul  of  the  leaven  of  anger? 

"  '  Farewell,  then,  only  heart  that  I  have  loved  in  this 
world,  and  from  which  I  am  driven.  Was  ever  farewell  so 
tender  or  so  full  of  feeling?  bears  it  not  away  a  soul,  a 
life,  that  no  power  on  earth  can  resuscitate? 

"  '  Adieu  —  to  you,  peace;  to  me,  suffering.'  " 

Genestas  and  Benassis  looked  at  each  other  for  a 
moment,  each  in  the  grasp  of  thoughts  that  can  never 
be  communicated. 

17 


258  The  Country  Doctor. 

' '  After  sending  this  last  letter,  the  rough  copy  of 
which  was,  as  you  see,  preserved,  and  is  to  me  the 
representative  of  all  my  joys,  now  withered,"  said  Be- 
nassis,  "I  fell  into  a  state  of  unutterable  depression. 
The  earthly  ties  that  hold  a  man  to  life  were  bound 
together  in  this  one  hope,  and  it  was  lost.  I  had  to 
bid  farewell  to  the  delights  of  wedded  love,  to  let  die 
the  generous  feelings  that  were  budding  in  the  depths 
of  my  heart.  The  prayers  of  a  repentant  soul,  thirsting 
for  good,  for  beauty,  virtue,  uprightness,  were  repulsed 
b}r  persons  who  were  truly  religious.  Monsieur,  at  first 
m}T  mind  was  tossed  about  by  frantic  resolutions,  but 
the  sight  of  my  son  controlled  them.  My  attachment 
to  him  increased  through  the  misfortunes  of  which  he 
was  the  innocent  cause,  and  for  which  I  alone  was  to 
blame.  He  became  my  consolation.  At  thirty-four 
years  of  age  I  could  still  hope  to  be  nobly  useful  to  my 
country :  1  resolved  to  make  myself  a  distinguished 
man,  and  wipe  out  by  fame  or  by  the  splendor  of  power 
the  stain  on  my  son's  birth.  How  many  noble  emotions 
I  owe  to  him  ;  and  how  living  a  life  he  made  me  live 
during  the  days  when  I  worked  for  his  future !  —  I 
stifle  !"  cried  Benassis,  in  a  choking  voice.  "  Even  at 
the  end  of  eleven  years,  I  cannot  dwell  upon  that  fatal 
period.     That  child,  monsieur  —  I  lost  him  !  " 

The  doctor  was  silent,  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands, 
letting  them  fall  when  he  recovered  calmness.  Genes- 
tas  saw,  not  without  emotion,  the  tears  that  bathed  his 
eyes. 

"Monsieur,  this  thunderbolt  uprooted  me,"  con- 
tinued Benassis  ;  "  I  did  not  recover  a  sane  moral  sense 
until  1  had  transplanted  myself  into  another  soil  than 


The  Country  Doctor.  259 

that  of  social  life.  It  was  not  until  later  that  I  saw  the 
hand  of  God  in  my  misfortunes  ;  when  I  did,  I  resigned 
myself  and  listened  to  his  voice.  My  resignation  could 
not  be  speedy  ;  my  higher  nature  had  to  be  awakened. 
I  spent  the  last  tires  of  my  natural  impetuosity  in  that 
final  struggle  ;  I  hesitated  long  before  I  chose  the  only 
course  it  was  fitting  for  a  Catholic  to  take.  At  first,  I 
wished  to  kill  myself.  These  events  developed  an  ex- 
cessive melancholy  in  my  mind,  and  I  coldly  resolved 
on  this  act  of  despair.  I  considered  it  allowable  to  quit 
life,  since  life  itself  quitted  us.  Suicide  seemed  to  be 
a  natural  act.  Sorrows,  I  thought,  produce  the  same 
ravages  upon  the  soul  of  man  that  extreme  sufferings 
produce  upon  his  body ;  surely,  the  intelligent  being 
suffering  under  a  moral  malady  has  the  right  to  kill 
himself,  as  a  lamb,  giddy  with  the  staggers,  breaks  its 
head  against  a  tree.  Are  the  ills  of  the  soul  easier  to 
cure  than  those  of  the  body  ?  I  doubt  it.  I  know  not 
which  is  the  greater  coward,  the  man  who  is  alwa}'s 
hoping,  or  he  who  no  longer  hopes.  Suicide  seemed  to 
me  the  last  stage  of  a  moral  malad}T,  just  as  natural 
death  is  the  last  stage  of  a  physical  malady  ;  but  since 
the  moral  life  is  placed  under  the  control  of  the  human 
will,  its  cessation  ought  surely  to  be  in  accordance  with 
the  action  of  the  mind.  It  is  the  thought  that  kills, 
not  the  pistol.  Moreover,  does  not  the  fact  that  mere 
chance  can  strike  us  down  in  the  happiest  moment  of 
our  lives,  absolve  a  man  who  declines  to  live  an}T  longer 
a  wretched  life  ? 

"And  yet,  monsieur,  these  meditations,  which  filled 
my  mind  in  those  first  clays  of  mourning,  lifted  me  to 
higher  considerations.     For  a  time,  I  shared  the  noble 


260  The  Country  Doctor. 

beliefs  of  pagan  antiquity,  —  always,  however,  demand- 
ing from  them  better  rights  for  man.  I  believed  I  could, 
\>y  the  light  of  modern  torches,  dig  deeper  than  the  an- 
cients had  dug  into  questions  formerly  reduced  to  sys- 
tems. Epicurus  permitted  suicide.  Was  it  not  the 
natural  outcome  of  his  philosoplry?  He  required,  at  any 
price,  the  gratification  of  his  senses  ;  that  enjoyment 
failing  him,  it  was  natural  and  permissible,  he  thought, 
for  the  animate  being  to  return  to  the  repose  of  inani- 
mate nature.  The  sole  end  of  man  being  happiness 
and  the  hope  of  happiness,  death  became  a  good  to  one 
who  suffered  and  suffered  hopelessly,  and  to  take  it 
voluntarily  was  a  final  act  of  wisdom.  That  act,  how- 
ever, he  neither  praised  nor  blamed;  he  merely  said, 
pouring  a  libation  to  Bacchus,  '  Death  is  no  cause 
for  laughter,  nor  for  tears.' 

"  Zeno,  and  the  other  Stoics,  though  of  a  higher  mo- 
rality and  more  imbued  with  the  doctrine  of  duty  than 
the  Epicureans,  recommended  suicide  in  certain  cases. 
They  reasoned  thus :  Man  differs  from  the  brutes  in 
that  he  is  the  sovereign  master  of  his  own  person. 
Take  away  from  him  the  right  of  life  and  death  over 
himself,  and  you  make  him  the  slave  of  men  and  of 
events.  This  right  of  life  and  death,  well  understood, 
is  the  effective  counterpoise  of  natural  and  social  evils  : 
this  individual  right,  if  made  over  b\r  man  to  his  fellows 
begets  tyranny.  Man's  power  cannot  exist  unless  he 
has  an  unlimited  freedom  of  action.  Has  he  to  escape 
the  shameful  consequences  of  an  irremediable  wrong- 
doing? the  common  man  swallows  the  shame  and  lives 
on ;  the  wise  man  drinks  the  hemlock  and  dies.  Has 
he  to  endure  for  the  rest  of  his  life  the  gout  whicli  burns 


The  Country  Doctor.  261 

his  bones,  or  a  cancer  which  eats  up  his  face?  the  wise 
man  sees  that  the  moment  has  come ;  he  sends  awa}' 
the  quacks,  and  says  a  last  farewell  to  friends  whose 
lives  he  would  otherwise  sadden  by  his  existence.  Or  it 
may  be  that  he  falls  under  the  power  of  a  tyrant  whom 
he  has  combated  with  weapons  in  his  hand  —  what  shall 
he  do  ?  The  oath  of  allegiance  is  offered  ;  he  must  take 
it,  or  lose  his  head :  the  fool  laj's  his  neck  on  the  block, 
the  coward  takes  the  oath,  the  wise  man  strikes  to  his 
own  heart  a  last  blow  for  liberty.  '  Free  men,'  cries  the 
Stoic,  '  learn  to  keep  yourselves  free  !  —  free  from  }'our 
passions,  by  sacrificing  them  to  duty  ;  free  from  your 
fellows,  by  the  poison  or  the  dagger  which  puts  you  be- 
yond their  reach ;  free  of  fate,  by  drawing  the  line 
beyond  which  it  can  have  no  grip  upon  you ;  free  of 
prejudices,  by  never  confounding  them  with  duties ; 
free  of  all  animal  apprehensions,  b}T  knowing  how  to 
surmount  the  grosser  instincts  which  chain  down  the 
lives  of  so  many  unfortunates.' 

"After  clearing  these  arguments  from  the  philo- 
sophic tangle  of  the  ancients,  I  believed  I  had  found  a 
Christian  sanction  for  them  under  the  laws  of  free-will, 
which  God  has  given  to  men  to  enable  him  to  judge 
them  at  his  tribunal  in  the  last  day ;  I  said  to  myself, 
I  will  answer  for  my  deed  there.'  But,  monsieur, 
Jiese  very  reasonings  forced  me  to  think  of  the  morrow 
of  death  ;  and  soon  I  found  myself  face  to  face  with  my 
early  beliefs. 

"The  whole  of  human  life  becomes  of  grave  importance 
if  eternit}7  bears  its  weight  upon  our  lightest  resolutions. 
When  the  thought  of  the  future  life  acts  with  all  its 
force  upon  the  soul  of  man,  and  makes  him  feel  within 


262  The  Country  Doctor. 

himself  something  unspeakably  vast  that  puts  him  in 
contact  with  the  infinite,  all  things  change  strangely. 
From  such  a  point  of  view  life  is  very  grand  and  very 
petty.  The  sense  of  my  own  errors  had  never  led  me 
to  think  of  heaven  so  long  as  I  could  find  comfort  for 
my  sorrows  on  earth.  To  love,  to  consecrate  myself 
to  the  happiness  of  one  woman,  to  be  the  head  of  a 
family,  —  that  surely  was  a  noble  way  of  expiating  the 
errors  which  stung  my  soul.  When  that  wa}~  came  to 
nought,  still  there  was  expiation  in  consecrating  my 
life  to  that  of  my  child.  But  when,  after  these  efforts 
of  my  soul,  disdain  and  death  wrapped  me  in  eternal 
mourning,  when  all  my  feelings  were  wounded  and  I 
could  see  nothing  left  to  me  here  below,  —  then  I  raised 
my  eyes  to  heaven,  and  I  saw  God. 

u  However,  I  still  tried  to  make  religion  an  accomplice 
in  my  death.  I  re-read  the  Gospels,  and  found  no  text 
in  which  suicide  was  forbidden  ;  but  that  reading  filled 
me,  penetrated  me  with  the  divine  thought  of  the  Saviour 
of  men.  Certainly  he  has  said  nothing  of  immortality, 
but  he  has  told  us  of  his  Father's  mansions.  He  has 
nowhere  forbidden  parricide,  but  he  condemns  all  evil. 
The  glory  of  his  apostles,  and  the  proof  of  their  mis- 
sion, is  less  that  they  gave  laws  than  that  they  spread 
throughout  the  earth  the  new  spirit  of  the  new  law, 
The  courage  that  a  man  displays  in  killing  himself  now 
seemed  to  me  his  own  condemnation.  If  he  has  the 
strength  to  die,  he  ought  to  have  the  strength  to  strug- 
gle :  to  refuse  to  suffer  is  weakness,  not  strength. 
Moreover,  to  quit  this  life  from  disappointment — is 
not  that  to  abjure  the  Christian  faith  which  Jesus  has 
anchored  on  these  sublime  words :    '  Blessed  are  they 


The  Country  Doctor.  263 

who  mourn  ?  '  Suicide  no  longer  seemed  to  me  permis- 
sible in  an}'  crisis  of  human  life  ;  not  even  to  a  man  who, 
through  a  false  conception  of  the  grandeur  of  the  spirit, 
kills  himself  a  moment  before  the  executioner  lets  fall 
the  axe.  Jesus  Christ,  in  suffering  himself  to  be  cruci- 
fied, taught  us  to  obey  all  human  laws,  no  matter  how 
unjustly  applied.  The  word  resignation  graven  on  his 
cross,  intelligible  to  those  who  have  the  eyes  to  read  the 
sacred  writing,  appeared  to  me  in  all  its  divine  clearness. 
"  I  still  possessed  about  eight}' thousand  francs;  at 
first  I  wished  to  go  far  from  men,  to  wear  out  niy  life 
in  the  depths  of  some  solitary  region  ;  but  misanthropy, 
a  form  of  vanity  hidden  under  the  quills  of  a  hedgehog, 
is  not  a  Catholic  virtue.  The  heart  of  a  misanthropist 
never  bleeds,  it  contracts  ;  and  mine  bled  from  every 
vein.  Thinking  over  the  laws  of  the  Church  and  the 
help  she  offers  to  the  afflicted,  I  came  to  understand 
the  value  of  prayer  in  solitude,  and  I  determined  to 
i  enter  religion  '  —  to  use  the  beautiful  expression  of 
our  forefathers.  Though  firmly  resolved  on  this,  I 
nevertheless  reserved  the  right  of  examining  the  ways 
by  which  I  could  attain  that  end.  After  turning  the 
remains  of  my  estate  into  money,  I  left  Paris  tranquilly. 
The  peace  of  God  was  a  hope  that  could  not  fail  me. 
Attracted  from  the  first  by  the  rule  of  Saint  Bruno,  I 
made  my  way  on  foot  to  the  Grande  Chartreuse,  full  of 
earnest  thoughts.  That  day  was  a  solemn  one  for  me. 
I  was  not  prepared  for  the  magnificent  scenery  which 
opens  along  the  road  which  leads  from  Grenoble  through 
this  valley,  where  superhuman  power  is  visible  at  ever}' 
step.  Those  beetling  rocks,  those  precipices,  those  tor- 
rents that  make  their  voices  heard  amid  the  silence,  that 


264  The  Country  Doctor. 

solitude  hemmed  in  by  mountains  and  yet  limitless,  ths*fc 
sanctuary  to  which  man's  barren  wonder  alone  can  pene- 
trate, that  wilderness  of  horror,  softened  by  nature's 
picturesque  creations,  those  primeval  pine-trees  and 
those  plants  of  a  day  —  such  things  in  themselves  were 
enough  to  make  me  serious.  It  would  be  difficult  to 
laugh  in  traversing  the  desert  of  Saint  Bruno ;  there, 
all  melancholy  sentiments  prevail.  I  saw  the  Grande 
Chartreuse ;  I  walked  beneath  those  ancient,  silent 
arches  ;  I  heard  the  water  of  the  spring  falling,  drop  by 
drop,  below  the  cloisters.  I  entered  a  cell  that  I  might 
take  the  measure  of  my  own  nothingness ;  I  breathed 
the  peace  profound  my  predecessor  had  known  there, 
and  I  read  with  tender  emotion  the  words  he  had  written 
above  his  door,  following  the  customs  of  a  monastery ; 
all  the  precepts  of  the  life  I  sought  to  live  were  in  those 
three  Latin  words,  —  Fnge,  late,  taceP 

Genestas  bowed  his  head  as  if  he  understood  them. 

"  I  made  mjT  decision,"  continued  Benassis.  "  This 
cell,  panelled  in  pine,  this  hard  bed,  this  loneliness, 
met  the  wants  of  my  soul.  The  Brethren  were  in  the 
chapel ;  I  went  to  pray  among  them.  There  m}T  reso- 
lution vanished.  Monsieur,  I  will  not  judge  the  Cath- 
olic church ;  I  am  strongly  orthodox,  I  believe  in  its 
works  and  in  its  laws.  But  as  I  listened  to  the  chanted 
prajers  of  those  old  men,  nameless  to  the  world  and 
dead  to  the  world,  I  perceived,  even  in  the  depths  of 
the  cloister,  a  species  of  sublime  selfishness?  Such 
retreat  from  life  can  profit  none  but  the  man  himself; 
it  is  a  slow  suicide.  I  do  not  condemn  it,  monsieur. 
If  the  Church  has  opened  such  tombs,  they  are  doubtless 
necessary  to  some  Christians  who  are  useless  to   the 


The  Country  Doctor.  265 

world.  I  believed  that  I  should  do  better  by  mak- 
ing my  repentance  useful  to  the  lives  of  others.  On 
my  journey  back  from  the  monastery,  I  thought  over 
the  ways  in  which  I  might  put  in  practice  that  form  of 
resignation.  I  imagined  the  life  of  a  common  sailor, 
and  condemned  myself  in  thought  to  serve  my  country 
in  the  lowest  rank,  renouncing  all  intellectual  functions. 
But,  although  it  was  a  life  of  toil  and  devotion,  it 
seemed  to  me  of  too  little  use.  Should  I  not  frustrate 
God's  intentions  ?  If  he  had  given  me  powers  of  mind, 
was  it  not  my  duty  to  use  them  for  the  good  of  others? 
Moreover,  —  if  I  may  speak  quite  frankly,  —  I  felt  within 
my  soul  a  need  of  expansion  which  mere  mechanical 
obligations  would  have  galled.  In  a  sailor's  life  I  could 
see  no  nourishment  for  the  loving-kindness  which  re- 
sults from  nry  organization,  just  as  each  flower  exhales 
its  own  especial  perfume. 

"  I  was,  as  I  have  already  told  3*011,  obliged  to  pass 
the  night  in  this  hamlet.  During  that  night  I  believed 
I  heard  the  voice  of  God  in  the  compassion  to  which 
the  state  of  this  poor  valley  moved  me.  I  had  tasted 
the  agonizing  joys  of  motherhood  ;  I  resolved  to  give 
myself  wholly  up  to  them,  to  satisfy  the  maternal  in- 
stinct in  a  wider  sphere  than  that  of  a  mother,  by 
becoming  a  sister  of  mercy  to  the  whole  region,  and 
continually  healing  the  wounds  of  the  poor.  I  saw  the 
finger  of  God  marking  out  1113'  destiny  when  I  remem- 
bered that  the  first  serious  thought  of  my  3'outh  had  led 
me  to  the  study  of  medicine,  and  I  resolved  to  practise 
1113'  profession  here.  Moreover,  for  wounded  hearts, 
silence  and  shade :  I  had  said  this  in  my  letter ;  that 
which  I  had  promised  myself  to  do,  I  would  cany  out ; 


266  The  Country  Doctor. 

and  so  I  entered  the  path  of  silence  and  resignation. 
The  Fuge,  late,  tace,  of  the  Carthusian  is  my  motto  in 
this  place  ;  my  work  is  an  active  prayer ;  my  moral 
suicide  is  the  life  of  my  district,  over  which  I  love  to 
sow  with  outstretched  hand  the  seeds  of  happiness  and 
jo}T,  —  giving  that  I  have  not. 

"  The  habit  of  living  among  the  peasantiy,  my  com- 
plete separation  from  the  world,  have  greatly  altered 
me.  My  face  has  changed  its  expression ;  it  is  now 
used  to  the  sun,  which  has  hardened  and  wrinkled  it. 
I  have  the  appearance  and  demeanor  of  a  countryman 
in  dress,  speech,  negligence  of  non-essentials,  and  a 
dislike  to  all  that  is  affectation.  My  friends  in  Paris, 
or  the  dainty  women  on  whom  I  formerly  danced  at- 
tendance, could  not  recognize  in  me  a  man  who  was 
once  the  fashion,  the  sybarite  accustomed  to  the  lux- 
uries, the  frippery,  and  the  refinements  of  Paris.  The 
external  things  of  life  are  now  absolutely  indifferent  to 
me,  as  tl^  are  to  all  who  follow  the  train  of  one  idea. 
I  have  no  other  object  in  life  but  to  leave  it.  I  desire 
to  do  nothing  to  hasten  nor  yet  retard  m}T  end  ;  but  I 
shall  lie  down  to  die  without  regret  when  the  dajT  of  my 
last  illness  comes. 

"Monsieur,  I  have  now  told  }tou,  in  all  sincerity,  the 
events  of  my  life  before  I  came  to  live  in  this  place.  I 
have  not  concealed  m}r  errors :  they  were  great ;  they 
were  in  common  with  those  of  other  men.  I  have  suf- 
fered much,  I  suffer  daily ;  but  I  see  in  my  sufferings 
the  promise  of  a  happy  future.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  my 
resignation,  there  are  pangs  I  know  not  how  to  bear. 
To-day,  in  your  presence,  unknown  to  3-011,  I  well-nigh 
gave  wa}'  to  my  inward  torture." 


The  Country  Doctor.  267 

Genestas  sprang  from  his  chair. 

"Yes,  Captain  Blnteau,  }tou  were  present.  You  re- 
member that  you  showed  me  the  bed  of  mere  Colas 
after  we  had  put  Jacques  into  his?  Well,  if  I  am  un- 
able to  see  any  child  without  thinking  of  the  angel  I 
have  lost,  you  can  understand  ni}T  distress  as  I  held  in 
my  arms  one  that  was  stricken  with  death.  I  cannot 
look  composedly  on  a  child." 

Genestas  grew  pale. 

"Yes,  the  pretty  blond  heads,  the  innocent  faces  of 
the  children  I  meet,  speak  to  me  of  m}T  sorrows,  and  re- 
awaken the  agom\  It  is  horrible  to  me  to  think  so 
man}'  people  thank  me  for  the  little  good  I  do,  when 
that  good  is  but  the  fruit  of  m}-  remorse.  Captain,  you 
alone  know  the  secret  of  nry  life.  If  I  had  drawn  nay 
courage  from  a  purer  source  than  the  memoiy  of  nvy 
errors,  I  should  be  a  happier  man, — but  then,  there 
would  be  nothing  to  tell  you  about  my  life." 


268  The  Country  Doctor. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ELEGIES. 

As  Benassis  ceased  speaking,  he  was  struck  with  the 
expression  of  deep  solicitude  on  the  soldier's  lace. 
Touched  to  have  been  so  well  understood,  he  half- 
regretted  having  distressed  his  guest,  and  said  to 
him  :  — 

"But,  Captain  Bluteau,  my  misfortunes  —  " 

"Don't  call  me  Captain  Bluteau,"  cried  Genestas, 
interrupting  the  doctor,  and  jumping  up  with  a  hasty 
movement  that  implied  a  sort  of  inward  vexation. 
"  There's  no  Captain  Bluteau,  I'm  a  scoundrel !  " 

Benassis  looked  at  him  with  amazement,  as  he  moved 
here  and  there  about  the  salon,  like  a  bumble-bee  toying 
to  get  out  of  a  room  it  has  got  into  by  mistake. 

"  But  who  are  you,  then?"  asked  Benassis. 

"Ah!  that  indeed!"  replied  the  soldier,  coming 
back  to  the  doctor ;  whom,  however,  lie  dared  not  face. 
"  I  have  deceived  you,"  he  added,  in  an  altered  voice. 
"  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  have  acted  a  lie.  I  am 
well  punished,  for  now  I  cannot  tell  you  the  object  of 
mjr  visit,  nor  the  reason  for  such  cursed  spying.  Since 
I  have,  as  I  ma}'  say,  looked  into  }'our  soul,  I  would 
rather  let  you  strike  me  than  hear  }tou  call  me  Bluteau. 
You  may  forgive  me  this  imposture,  but  I  shall  never 


The  Country  Doctor.  269 

forgive  myself,  —  I,  Pierre  Joseph  Genestas,  who  to 
save  his  life  would  not  have  lied  before  a  court- 
martial  !  " 

"Are  you  Captain  Genestas?"  cried  Benassis,  ris- 
ing. He  took  the  officer's  hand  and  shook  it  very 
affectionately,  saying:  "Monsieur,  we  are,  as  you  re- 
marked just  now,  friends  without  knowing  it.  I  have 
long  desired  to  meet  you,  for  I  have  heard  so  much  of 
3Tou  from  Monsieur  Gravier,  — -  a  man  out  of  Plutarch/ 
he  used  to  say  to  me." 

"  I  am  not  from  Plutarch,"  answered  Genestas.  "  I 
am  unworthy  of  you  ;  I  deserve  a  thrashing.  I  ought 
to  confess  my  secret —  But  no,  no  !  I  have  done  well 
to  wear  a  mask,  and  come  and  see  for  myself  what 
manner  of  man  you  are.  And  now  I  see  plainly  I  must 
hold  my  tongue.  If  I  had  frankly  told  3'ou  my  object 
at  the  start,  I  should  have  given  you  pain.  God  forbid 
that  I  should  add  to  your  griefs." 

"  But  I  do  not  understand  you,  captain." 

"  We'll  let  the  matter  drop.  I  am  not  a  sick  man  ; 
I  have  spent  a  good  day ;  and  I  shall  go  away  to-mor- 
row morning.  When  3*011  come  to  Grenoble,  you'll 
find  one  friend  the  more,  and  not  a  fair-weather  friend 
either.  The  purse,  the  sabre,  the  blood  of  Pierre  Jo- 
seph Genestas,  all  are  yours.  You  have  sown  3Tour 
seed  on  good  ground.  When  I  get  nry  retirement,  I 
shall  find  some  sort  of  hole  and  get  nryself  made  mayor 
of  it,  and  try  to  imitate  you.  I  shall  lack  3rour  science, 
but  I  '11  study." 

"You  will  do  well,  monsieur;  the  property-owner 
who  emplo3*s  his  time  in  correcting  the  mistakes  and 
raising  the  methods  of  work  in  his  district,  does  as 


270  The  Country  Doctor, 

much  good  as  the  best  of  doctors.  If  one  relieves  the 
sufferings  of  a  few  men,  the  other  helps  to  cure  the 
wounds  of  his  country.  But  you  excite  my  curiositj^. 
Can  I  be  useful  to  you  in  any  way?" 

"  Useful !  "  exclaimed  the  captain  in  a  broken  voice. 
u  Good  God  !  my  dear  Monsieur  Benassis,  it  is  impos- 
sible for  me  now  to  mention  the  service  I  came  to  ask 
of  you.  I  've  killed  man}'  a  Christian  in  nry  da}r,  — you 
can  kill  people  and  still  have  a  good  heart,  —  but  rough 
as  I  seem  to  you,  there  are  some  things  I  am  able  to 
comprehend." 

"  Speak  frankly." 

"  I  don't  wish  to  inflict  pain  upon  you." 
"  Ah  !  captain,  I  can  bear  a  great  deal." 
"Monsieur,"  said  the  captain,  trembling,  "it  con- 
cerns the  life  of  a  child." 

Benassis's  forehead  contracted  suddenly ;  but  he 
made  a  motion  as  if  to  ask  Genestas  to  continue. 

"A  child,"  resumed  the  captain,  "  whose  life  might 
still  be  saved  by  close  and  constant  watching.  But 
where  was  I  to  find  a  doctor  willing  to  devote  himself 
to  one  patient?  Certainly  not  in  a  city.  I  had  heard 
of  3'ou  as  an  excellent  man,  and  ayet  I  was  afraid  of  be- 
ing misled  b}r  your  reputation.  I  thought  before  con- 
fiding nry  little  fellow  to  this  Monsieur  Benassis,  of 
whom  I  was  told  such  great  things,  that  I  would  study 
him,  and  now  —  " 

"  Enough,"  said  the  doctor,  "  is  the  child  yours?" 
"  No,  nry  good  friend,  no.     But  to  explain  the  mat- 
ter, I  shall  have  to  tell  you  a  tale  in  which  I  play  rather 
a  sorry  part.     You  have  confided  to  me  your  secrets, 
and  I  can  surely  do  the  same  to  you." 


The  Country  Doctor,  271 

"Wait  a  moment,  captain,"  said  the  doctor,  calling 
Jacqnotte,  who  came  at  once,  and  whom  he  told  to 
bring  his  tea.  "  The  truth  is,  captain,  when  everybody 
is  asleep,  I  can't  sleep.  My  sorrows  oppress  me,  and 
I  try  to  forget  them  in  tea.  It  produces  a  sort  of  ner- 
vous inebriation,  a  sleep  without  which  I  could  not  live. 
Do  3'ou  still  refuse  it?  " 

"I  should  prefer  a  little  of  }Tour  Hermitage,"  said 
Genestas. 

"  So  be  it.  Jacquotte,"  he  said  to  the  servant, 
"  bring  the  wine  and  some  biscuits,  —  to  each  his  own 
night-cap,"  added  the  doctor,  addressing  his  guest. 

"  That  tea  must  do  you  a  great  deal  of  harm,"  said 
Genestas. 

"  It  gives  me  horrible  attacks  of  gout.  But  I  can't 
give  up  the  habit ;  it  is  too  soothing.  It  gives  me  a 
few  moments  every  night  when  life  is  less  of  a  burden. 
Come,  I  am  ready  to  listen  to  your  story ;  it  may  help 
to  quiet  the  feelings  which  my  own  recollections  have 
just  evoked." 

"Well,"  said  Genestas,  putting  his  empty  glass  on 
the  mantel-shelf,  "after  the  retreat  from  Moscow, 
my  regiment  stopped  to  recruit  in  a  little  town  in 
Poland.  We  bought  horses  at  their  weight  in  gold ; 
and  stayed  in  garrison  until  the  Emperor  returned.  So 
far,  so  good.  I  must  tell  you  that  I  then  had  a  friend. 
During  the  retreat  my  life  was  more  than  once  saved  by 
a  cavalry  sergeant,  named  Renarcl,  who  did  things  for 
me  that  must  needs  make  men  friends,  —  outside  the  de- 
mands of  discipline,  of  course.  We  lodged  in  the  same 
house, — one  of  those  wooden  rat-traps  which  contain 
a  whole  family,  though  Frenchmen  would  n't  think  of 


272  The  Country  Doctor. 

stabling  a  horse  in  them.  This  particular  hovel  be- 
longed to  Jews,  who  carried  on  their  forty-and-one 
wa}Ts  of  making  mone}*  in  it ;  and  the  old  Jew  father, 
whose  fingers  were  never  too  frozen  to  grab  gold,  had 
made  a  very  good  thing  for  himself  out  of  our  retreat. 
Those  creatures  live  in  dirt,  and  die  in  filthy  lucre ! 
The  house  was  built  over  a  cellar,  —  all  in  wood, 
understand,  —  in  which  cellar  the  old  fellow  had  hidden 
away  his  children,  especially  a  daughter,  handsome  as 
Jewesses  usually  are  when  they  keep  themselves  clean 
and  are  not  blonde.  She  was  seventeen  }'ears  old, 
white  as  snow,  velvety  eyes,  lashes  as  black  as  a  rat's 
tail,  glossy  clustering  hair  that  one  wanted  to  handle,  — 
in  short,  a  perfect  beauty.  I  discovered  this  hiding- 
place  one  night  when  they  thought  I'd  gone  to  bed, 
and  I  was  walking  up  and  down  the  street  quietly, 
smoking  my  pipe.  The  children  were  swarming  and 
crawling  about,  like  a  litter  of  puppies ;  'twas  funny  to 
see  them.  The  father  and  mother  were  at  supper.  By 
dint  of  gazing  fixedly  through  the  cloud  of  smoke 
which  the  old  Jew  was  blowing  from  his  pipe,  I  saw 
the  young  girl  sitting  there,  like  a  brand-new  napoleon 
among  a  lot  of  copper  sous. 

"My  dear  Benassis,"  said  the  captain,  after  a  mo- 
mentary pause,  "  I  have  never  had  time  to  reflect  about 
love.  Yet  when  I  saw  that  young  girl,  I  knew  that 
I  had  never  really  felt  it ;  but  here  it  was,  in  my  head, 
in  my  heart,  and  eveiywhere  else.  I  had  fallen  in  love 
from  the  crown  of  my  head  to  the  soles  of  uiy  feet,  oh, 
violently  !  I  stood  still,  smoking  my  pipe  and  looking 
at  the  Jewess,  till  she  put  out  her  candle  and  went  to 
bed.     Impossible   for   me   to   go   to   sleep !     I   stood 


The  Country  Doctor.  273 

about  all  night,  filling  m}'  pipe,  smoking  it,  and  walk- 
ing up  and  down  the  street.  I  had  never  been  like 
that  before.  It  was  the  only  time  in  nry  life  I  thought 
of  marrying.  When  it  was  daylight,  I  saddled  my 
horse  and  galloped  him  for  two  hours  across  the  coun- 
try to  clear  m}7  head.  I  nearly  foundered  the  beast 
without  knowing  what  I  was  about." 

Genestas  stopped,  looked  uneasily  at  his  new  friend, 
and  then  said  :  — 

"  Excuse  me,  Benassis ;  I  am  no  orator,  I  talk  as  it 
comes.  If  I  were  in  a  salon,  I  should  be  embarrassed, 
but  with  3-011,  here,  in  the  country  —  " 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  When  I  got  back  to  my  room,  I  found  Renard  all 
of  a  fluster.  Thinking  I  was  killed  in  a  duel,  he  was 
cleaning  his  pistols,  and  meaning  to  pick  a  quarrel  with 
whoever  had  sent  me  to  the  shades.  Ha !  that 's  just 
like  an  old  stager!  I  confided  my  love  to  him,  and 
showed  him  the  kennel  of  children.  As  Renard  knew 
the  lingo  of  these  outlandish  folk,  I  asked  him  to  help 
me  in  making  my  proposals  to  the  father  and  mother, 
and  in  setting  up  an  intercourse  with  Judith  —  her 
name  was  Judith.  So,  monsieur,  for  two  weeks  I  was 
the  happiest  of  men,  and  every  night  the  old  Jew 
invited  us  to  sup  with  Judith.  You  know  all  about 
such  things,  so  I  sha'n't  put  3'ou  out  of  patience,  —  and 
yet,  if  3-011  don't  know  the  joys  of  tobacco,  you  can't 
realize  the  happiness  of  an  honest  man  quietly  smok- 
ing his  pipe,  with  his  friend  Renard  and  the  father  of 
the  daughter,  and  gazing  at  his  princess.  Yes,  it  was 
very  agreeable.  But  I  must  tell  30U  that  Renard  was 
a  young  man   of  good  connections,   a   Parisian.     His 

18 


274  The  Country  Doctor. 

father  was  a  wholesale  grocer,  who  had  brought  him  up 
to  be  a.  notary  ;  but  the  draft  caught  him,  and  he  had 
to  bid  adieu  to  the  inkstand.  With  a  figure  made  to 
wear  a  uniform,  and  the  face  of  a  girl,  he  knew  the 
art  of  cajoling  everybody  he  came  across.  It  was  he 
whom  Judith  loved  ;  she  cared  for  me  as  much  as  a 
horse  cares  for  roast  chicken. 

"Well,  while  I  was  smoking  in  ecstasy,  and  travel- 
ling to  the  moon  as  I  looked  at  Judith,  Renard,  who 
you  see  had  n't  stolen  his  name,  was  sapping  his  mine. 
The  traitor  came  to  terms  with  the  girl,  and  they  were 
married  after  the  fashion  of  those  parts,  without  waiting 
for  permissions  from  France,  which  would  have  taken 
a  long  while  to  come.  Renard  did  promise  to  many  her 
according  to  French  law,  if  the  marriage  was  ever  at- 
tacked ;  as  it  was,  however,  once  in  France,  Madame 
Renard  was  nothing  more  than  Mademoiselle  Judith. 
If  I  had  known  all  that,  I  should  have  killed  Renard, 
sharp,  without  giving  him  time  to  sneeze ;  but  the  fact 
was,  father,  mother,  daughter  and  fox  played  into  each 
other's  hands  like  thieves  at  a  fair.  While  I  smoked 
my  pipe  and  worshipped  Judith  for  a  saint  in  a  niche, 
Renard  was  making  his  appointments  and  carrying 
on  his  little  game.  You  are  the  only  person  to  whom 
I  have  ever  told  this  story,  which  I  call  infamous  ;  I 
have  always  wondered  how  a  man  who  would  die  of 
shame  if  he  stole  a  bit  of  gold,  can  rob  his  friend  of 
wife  and  happiness  without  a  scruple.  However  that 
ma}-  be,  there  were  my  traitors  married  and  happy, 
while  I,  like  an  imbecile,  sat  gazing  at  Judith,  and 
playing  tenor  in  the  farce  of  throwing  dust  in  my  eyes. 
But,  you  must  know,  they  paid  singular!}-  dear  for  their 


The  Country  Doctor.  275 

deception.  On  the  word  of  an  honest  man,  God  gives 
more  attention  to  the  things  of  this  world  than  we  think 
for,  as  }*ou  shall  see. 

"  Down  came  the  Russians.  The  campaign  of  1813 
began.  We  were  surrounded.  One  fine  morning  the 
order  was  issued  to  be  on  the  battle-field  of  Lutzen  by 
a  certain  hour.  The  Emperor  knew  what  he  was  about 
when  he  ordered  us  to  be  off  at  once.  The  Russians 
had  turned  our  flank.  Our  colonel  got  into  a  scrape 
by  going  to  say  good-by  to  a  Polish  lady  who  lived 
a  mile  from  the  town,  and  the  advance-guard  of  the 
Cossacks  pounced  upon  him  and  his  escort.  We  had 
only  time  to  mount  and  form,  in  front  of  the  town, 
before  we  had  to  rush  into  a  cavalry  skirmish  and  drive 
the  Russians  back,  so  as  to  slip  quietry  off  during  the 
night.  We  charged  and  fought  for  three  hours,  and  did 
some  fine  feats  of  arms.  While  we  were  engaged,  the 
guns  and  the  ammunition  waggons  and  all  our  supplies 
and  material  got  awa}'  in  the  advance  ;  for  we  had,  30U 
must  know,  a  park  of  artillery  and  a  large  quantity  of 
powder  which  the  Emperor  was  desperately  in  need  of, 
and  of  course  they  had  to  be  got  to  him  at  any  cost. 
Our  resistance  imposed  on  the  Russians  ;  the}T  thought 
we  must  surely  be  supported  by  an  army  corps.  How- 
ever, before  long,  the  scouts  let  them  know  their  mis- 
take, and  they  found  out  they  had  only  a  regiment  of 
cavalry  and  a  few  infantry  stragglers  in  front  of  them. 
So,  monsieur,  towards  evening  the}^  made  such  a  hot 
attack,  meaning  to  demolish  us,  that  a  good  many  of 
us  were  left  on  the  field. 

"  We  were  surrounded.  Renard  and  I  were  in  the 
front  rank.     I  saw  Renard  charging  and  fighting  like 


276  The  Country  Doctor. 

a  demon  —  he  was  thinking  of  his  wife.  Thanks  to 
him  we  regained  the  town,  which  the  siek  had  put  into 
a  state  of  defence ;  ah!  but  'twas  pitiful.  He  and  I 
got  there  last ;  we  found  the  way  barred  by  a  lot  of 
Cossacks,  through  whom  we  spurred.  One  of  the  sav- 
ages was  about  to  spear  me  with  a  lance ;  Renard  saw 
him  and  dashed  his  horse  between  us  to  ward  off  the 
blow ;  the  poor  beast,  a  fine  animal,  faith  !  received  it, 
and  as  he  fell,  dragged  Renard  and  the  Cossack  with 
him.  I  killed  the  Cossack,  and  took  Renard  in  nvy 
arms  and  put  him  before  me  on  my  horse,  like  a  sack 
of  wheat.  '  Adieu,  captain,  it  is  all  over  with  me/ 
said  Renard.  '  We  '11  see  about  that,'  said  I.  By  that 
time,  I  had  got  into  the  town ;  I  dismounted,  and 
propped  him  in  the  angle  of  a  house,  on  a  little  straw. 
His  head  was  crushed  and  the  brains  were  in  his  hair ; 
but  he  could  speak  —  ah !  he  was  a  gallant  fellow. 
'  We  are  quits,'  he  said ;  '  I  have  given  you  nry  life, 
but  I  took  Judith  from  you.  Take  care  of  her  child,  if 
she  has  one,  and  marry  her.' 

"  Monsieur,  at  first  I  left  him  like  a  dog;  but  when 
my  rage  was  over  I  went  back ;  he  was  dead.  The 
Cossacks  had  set  fire  to  the  town.  I  recollected  Judith, 
and  went  to  fetch  her ;  mounted  her  behind  me,  and 
thanks  to  the- speed  of  my  horse,  I  regained  the  regi- 
ment, which,  meantime,  had  made  good  its  retreat.  As 
for  the  Jew  and  his  family,  they  had  disappeared  like 
rats  in  a  barn ;  Judith  alone  was  left,  waiting  for  Re- 
nard. I  told  her  nothing  at  first,  as  you  '11  readily  be- 
lieve. Monsieur,  I  had  to  take  charge  of  that  woman 
all  through  the  disasters  of  the  campaign  of  1813  ;  find 
her  lodging,  make  her  comfortable,  —  in  short,  care  for 


The  Country  Doctor,  211 

her ;  and  I  really  think  she  hardly  perceived  the  state 
the  arm}T  was  in.  I  took  care  to  keep  her  always  thirty 
miles  ahead  of  us,  on  the  road  to  France.  She  gave 
birth  to  a  son  while  we  were  fighting  at  Hanau.  I  was 
wounded  in  that  affair,  and  rejoined  Judith  in  Stras- 
bourg ;  then  I  came  back  to  Paris,  where  I  had  the 
great  misfortune  to  be  invalided  from  my  wound  during 
the  campaign  of  France.  If  it  had  n't  been  for  that 
unlucky  chance,  I  should  have  entered  the  grenadiers 
of  the  Guard,  to  which  the  Emperor  had  promoted 
me. 

"  So,  monsieur,  the  end  of  it  was,  I  had  been  obliged 
to  support  a  woman  and  a  child  that  did  not  belong  to 
me,  and  I  had  three  ribs  broken.  You  can  easily  be- 
lieve that  m}'  pay  was  not  the  revenue  of  France. 
Father  Renard,  an  old  shark  without  any  teeth,  would 
have  nothing  to  say  to  his  daughter-in-law ;  and  the 
Jew  father  had  vanished.  Judith  was  dying.  One 
morning  she  wept  as  she  bathed  my  wound.  '  Judith,' 
said  I,  '  jour  child  has  no  one  to  look  to.'  '  Neither 
have  I,'  she  answered.  '  Bah  ! '  I  said,  '  we  will  get 
the  necessaiy  papers,  and  I  will  marry  you  myself,  and 
acknowledge  as  mine  the  child  of — '  I  could  n't  finish. 
Ah  !  my  dear  monsieur,  what  is  there  that  one  would  n't 
do  for  such  a  look  of  thanks  from  dying  eyes  as  Judith 
gave  me  ?  I  knew  then  that  I  still  loved  her,  and  from 
that  day  her  little  one  came  into  my  heart.  While  the 
papers  were  being  got  read}',  and  the  father  and  mother 
Jews  were  on  their  wa}T,  the  poor  woman  grew  worse. 
The  evening  before  her  death,  she  had  the  strength  to 
dress  and  deck  herself,  and  go  through  all  the  usual 
ceremonies,  and  sign  their  heaps  of  papers.    Then,  when 


278  The  Country  Doctor. 

her  son  had  a  name  and  a  father,  she  lay  down  again ; 
I  kissed  her  hands  and  her  forehead,  and  she  died. 

' '  That  was  my  wedding.  The  day  after,  having 
bought  the  few  feet  of  earth  where  the  poor  girl  lies,  I 
realized  that  I  was  the  father  of  an  orphan.  During 
the  campaign  of  1815  I  put  him  out  to  nurse.  Since 
then,  without  anybody's  knowing  my  true  history,  which 
is  not  a  pleasant  one  to  tell,  I  have  taken  care  of  the 
little  monkey  as  if  he  were  mine  ;  his  Jew  grandfather 
has  gone  to  the  devil,  ruined,  and  is  wandering  with,  his 
family  somewhere  between  Russia  and  Persia.  There 's 
a  chance  that  he  may  make  a  fortune  there,  for  it  seems 
he  understands  the  business  of  precious  stones.  I  put 
the  bo}r  at  a  preparatory  school ;  but  lately  I  have  al- 
lowed him  to  be  pressed  so  hard  in  mathematics  to  get 
him  into  the  Ecole  Polytechnique  and  see  him  graduate 
with  credit,  that  the  poor  little  fellow  has  fallen  ill.  He 
has  a  weak  chest.  The  Paris  doctors  think  he  might 
have  a  chance  if  he  could  run  wild  in  the  mountains  and 
if,  above  all,  he  were  taken  proper  care  of  and  watched 
at  all  hours  by  a  man  of  judgment.  I  thought  of  30U, 
and  I  came  here  to  reconnoitre  your  ideas  and  3'our 
ways  of  life.  After  what  you  have  told  me,  I  cannot 
put  the  distress  of  caring  for  a  sick  child  upon  }Tou  — 
even  thougb  we  are  now  such  good  friends." 

"  Captain,"  said  Benassis,  after  a  moment's  silence, 
"  bring  me  Judith's  child.  God  doubtless  means  me 
to  bear  this  last  trial,  and  I  will  do  so.  I  offer  my 
sufferings  to  Him,  whose  son  died  on  the  cross.  But 
my  feelings  during  }Tour  recital  were  sweet  and  tender, 
and  is  not  that  a  favorable  augur}'  ?  " 

Genestas  pressed  both  hands  of  Benassis  within  his 


The  Country  Doctor.  279 

own,  not  restraining  the  tears  which  rose  in  his  eyes 
and  rolled  slowty  down  his  tanned  cheeks. 

"  Let  us  keep  the  secret  of  it,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  captain  ;  but  }Tou  are  not  drinking  }Tour  wine." 

"I  am  not  thirsty,"  said  Genestas ;  "in  fact,  I  am 
half-bewildered." 

"  When  will  you  bring  him  to  me?  " 

"To-morrow,  if  you  like.  He  has  been  in  Grenoble 
for  the  last  two  days." 

"Well,  then,  start  early  in  the  morning  and  come 
back  at  once.  I  '11  expect  you  at  the  house  of  my 
Fosseuse,  where  we  will  all  breakfast  together." 

"Agreed,"  said  Genestas. 

The  two  friends  rose  to  go  to  bed,  bidding  each  other 
good- night.  When  they  reached  the  landing  which 
separated  their  two  rooms,  Genestas  put  his  light  on 
the  window-sill  and  turned  to  Benassis  :  — 

"  By  the  God  who  made  me  !  "  he  cried  with  naive 
enthusiasm,  "I  won't  part  from  you  this  night  without 
saying  that  }"ou,  third  among  Christians,  have  made 
me  feel  that  there  is  something  up  there"  and  he 
pointed  to  the  skies. 

The  doctor  answered  with  a  smile  that  was  full  of 
sadness,  and  wrung  the  hand  Genestas  held  out  to  him 
ver}T  affectionately. 

Before  dawn  of  the  next  day,  Genestas  started  for 
the  city ,  and  about  noon  he  was  again  upon  the  high- 
road between  the  village  and  Grenoble,  near  the  path 
which  led  up  to  the  cottage  of  the  Fosseuse.  He  was 
driving  one  of  those  light  open  cars  with  four  wheels, 
drawn  by  one  horse,  which  are  frequently  met  on  all 


280  The  Country  Doctor. 

the  roads  of  that  mountainous  region.  The  captain 
was  accompanied  by  a  thin,  frail  lad,  who  seemed  to  be 
about  twelve  years  old,  though  he  was  in  fact  nearly 
sixteen.  Before  leaving  the  carriage,  Genestas  looked 
about  him  in  all  directions,  to  find  some  peasant  work- 
ing in  the  fields  who  would  take  the  vehicle  to  Benas- 
sis's  stable,  for  the  narrowness  of  the  way  did  not  allow 
him  to  drive  up  to  the  house.  The  game-keeper,  hap- 
pening to  come  out  upon  the  road  at  this  moment, 
relieved  Genestas  of  his  difficult}*,  and  the  latter,  with 
his  adopted  son,  started  on  foot  among  the  mountain- 
paths  to  keep  his  appointment. 

"You'll  be  delighted  to  run  wild  for  a  whole  jTear 
over  this  beautiful  country,  won't  you,  Adrien?  —  to 
learn  how  to  hunt,  and  ride  a  horse,  instead  of  getting 
pale  over  your  books  :  hey  ?  —  Look,  see  '  " 

Adrien  cast  the  weaiy7  glance  of  a  sick  child  over  the 
valle}T,  —  evidently  indifferent,  as  most  }*oung  people  are, 
to  the  beauties  of  nature,  —  and  then,  without  pausing 
in  his  walk,  he  said,  "  You  are  very  kind,  father." 

Genestas  was  hurt  by  the  languid  indifference  of  the 
lad,  and  did  not  speak  again  till  they  reached  the  house 
of  the  Fosseuse. 

u  You  are  punctual,  captain,"  cried  Benassis,  rising 
from  a  wooden  bench  on  which  he  had  been  sitting. 

But  he  immediately  sat  down  again  and  looked 
thoughtfully  at  Adrien,  slowly  examining  the  pallid, 
weary  face  of  the  bo}7 ;  not  without  admiring  the  fine 
oval  lines  which  predominated  on  what  was  really  a 
noble  countenance.  The  child  was  the  living  image  of 
his  mother,  — inheriting  her  olive  skin,  and  her  fine  black 
eyes  full  of  spiritual  melanchoty.    All  the  characteristics 


The  Country  Doctor.  281 

of  the  beaut}'  peculiar  to  the  Jewesses  of  Poland  distin- 
guished that  handsome  head,  which  seemed  too  heavy 
for  the  fragile  bod}'  that  bore  it. 

--  Do  you  sleep  well,  my  little  man?  "  asked  Benassis. 

"  Yes,  monsieur." 

"  Show  me  your  knees  ;  turn  up  3*0111"  trousers." 

Adrien  blushed,  unfastened  his  garters  and  showed 
a  knee  to  the  doctor,  who  felt  it  carefully. 

--  Good.     Now  speak,  shout  —  shout  loudly." 

Adrien  shouted. 

-'  That  will  do.     Now  give  me  your  hands." 

The  lad  held  out  his  soft  white  hands,  blue-veined 
like  those  of  a  woman. 

'  -  What  school  were  you  at  in  Paris  ?  " 

"At  the  Saint-Louis." 

"  The  master  in  your  dormitory  read  his  breviary 
during  the  night,  did  n't  he?  " 

"•Yes,  monsieur." 

"  And  you  could  not  go  to  sleep  again?  " 

Adrien  not  replying,  Genestas  said,  — 

--  The  head-master  was  a  very  worthy  priest,  and  he 
advised  me  to  take  my  little  man  away  on  account  of 
his  health." 

--Well,"  answered  Benassis,  with  a  clear,  penetrat- 
ing look  into  the  lad's  eyes,  "here's  a  good  chance. 
Yes,  we'll  make  a  man  of  him.  You  and  I  will  live 
together  like  comrades,  my  boy.  We  '11  go  early  to 
bed,  and  rise  early.  I'll  teach  your  son  to  ride  a 
horse,  captain.  After  a  month  or  so  devoted  to  mak- 
ing him  a  new  stomach  on  a  milk  diet,  I  '11  get  him  a 
hunting  outfit  and  a  license  to  shoot,  and  turn  him  over 
to  Butifer ;  the}'  can  go  after  the  chamois  together. 


282  The  Country  Doctor. 

Give  the  boy  five  or  six  months  of  such  a  life  and  you 
won't  know  him  again,  captain.  Butifer  will  be  happy  ; 
I  know  the  fellow's  wa}rs  —  he  '11  have  you  over  in 
Switzerland,  and  across  the  Alps,  my  little  friend ; 
he  '11  make  you  scramble  up  to  the  tops  of  those  peaks 
over  there,  and  you  '11  grow  six  inches  in  six  months. 
Butifer  is  an  honest  fellow,"  he  added,  turning  to 
Genestas.  "  We  can  safely  give  him  a  sum  of  money 
to  defray  the  expenses  of  such  a  journey  and  the  hunt- 
ing. The  responsibility  will  keep  him  steady  for  six 
months  ;  for  him,  that  will  be  just  so  much  gained." 

Genestas's  face  brightened  more  and  more  as  the 
doctor  spoke. 

"  Come,  let  us  go  to  breakfast.  The  Fosseuse  is 
impatient  to  see  you,"  said  Benassis,  giving  a  little  tap 
to  Adrien's  cheek. 

"  Then  }tou  don't  think  him  consumptive?"  asked  the 
captain,  taking  the  doctor's  arm  and  leading  him  aside. 

' '  Not  more  than  you  or  I." 

"Then,  what  is  the  matter  with  him?" 

"Bah!"  said  Benassis,  "he  is  at  a  bad  moment, 
that's  all." 

The  Fosseuse  here  showed  herself  on  the  threshold 
of  her  door,  and  Genestas  noticed,  not  without  sur- 
prise, her  simple  and  coquettish  attire.  She  was  no 
longer  the  peasant-girl  of  the  night  before,  but  an 
elegant  young  woman,  who  gave  him  a  few  glances 
beneath  which  he  felt  he  was  feeble.  He  turned  his 
e}*es  to  the  table,  which  was  without  a  cloth,  but  so  well 
waxed  that  it  shone  as  if  varnished.  On  it  were  eggs, 
butter,  a  pate,  and  mountain  strawberries  whose  fra- 
grance filled  the  air.     The  poor  girl  had  put  flowers  all 


The  Country  Doctor.  283 

about  the  room,  showing  plainly  that  for  her  at  least 
the  day  was  a  fete.  At  sight  of  it  all,  Genestas  could 
not  help  coveting  the  simple  house  with  its  pretty  lawn  ; 
and  he  looked  at  their  peasant  mistress  with  an  air 
that  expressed  both  hope  and  fear.  Then  he  turned 
his  eyes  on  Adrien,  to  whom  the  Fosseuse  was  serving 
eggs  and  pa}'ing  ceremonious  attention. 

"  Captain,"  said  Benassis,  "  you  know  the  condition 
on  which  you  receive  hospitality  here.  You  must  tell 
my  Fosseuse  some  military  tale." 

"  We  must  first  let  monsieur  breakfast  comfortably," 
said  the  Fosseuse,  "  and  after  he  has  taken  his  coffee  —  " 

"Yes,  truly  I  will;"  replied  the  captain,  "though 
I  shall  put  a  condition  to  my  tale.  You  must  tell  us 
some  adventure  of  your  former  life." 

"But,  monsieur,"  she  said  blushing,  "nothing  ever 
happened  to  me  that  is  worth  telling.  Will  3*011  have 
some  more  of  this  rice  pate,  my  little  friend,"  she  said 
to  Adrien,  seeing  that  his  plate  was  empty. 

"Yes,  mademoiselle." 

"  The  pate  is  delicious,"  remarked  Genestas. 

"  What  will  you  say  to  her  coffee  a  la  creme  /"  cried 
Benassis. 

"  I  would  rather  listen  to  our  pretty  hostess." 

"  You  are  beginning  badly,  Genestas,"  said  the 
doctor.  "  Listen,  my  child,"  he  added,  turning  to  the 
Fosseuse,  whose  hand  he  pressed.  "  This  officer, 
whom  you  see  beside  you,  hides  a  good  heart  under  a 
stern  exterior ;  3^011  can  speak  at  3*our  ease  before  him. 
But  speak,  or  hold  3*our  tongue,  just  as  3*011  like ;  we 
will  not  urge  you.  My  poor  child,  if  3*011  are  ever  to  be 
understood  in  this  world  it  will  be  b3*  the  three  persons 


284  The  Country  Doctor. 

who  are  now  with  3011.  Tell  us  your  past  loves ; 
that  will  not  be  trenching  on  the  actual  secrets  of  your 
heart." 

"Here  is  the  coffee,  which  Maiiette  is  bringing  in," 
she  answered.  "  When  30U  are  all  served  I  will  tell  you 
Day  early  loves ;  but  Monsieur  Genestas  is  not  to  for- 
get his  promise,"  she  added,  giving  the  captain  a  glance 
that  was  both  modest  and  provocative. 

"  I  am  incapable  of  doing  so,  mademoiselle,"  said 
Genestas,  respectfully. 

"  When  I  was  sixteen,"  said  the  Fosseuse,  "  although 
I  was  weak!}-,  I  was  forced  to  beg  m}-  bread  on  the 
highwa3's  of  Savoie.  I  slept  at  Echelles,  in  a  great 
manger  full  of  straw.  The  innkeeper  who  let  me  sleep 
there  was  a  good  man,  but  his  wife  could  not  endure 
me,  and  was  alwa3's  scolding  me.  That  made  me 
unhapp3r,  for  I  was  not  a  bad  little  beggar.  I  pra3red 
to  God  night  and  morning ;  I  never  stole ;  I  went  my 
wa3T  as  Heaven  willed,  and  begged  nry  food,  fur  I  did 
not  know  how  to  work  ;  I  was  very  poorly,  —  incapable 
of  labor,  or  of  looking  after  m3T  health.  Well,  I  was 
driven  away  from  the  inn,  on  account  of  a  dog.  With- 
out friends  or  relations  ever  since  I  wras  born,  I  had 
never  seen  on  an3T  face  a  look  that  did  me  good. 
The  old  woman  Morin,  who  took  me  when  a  baby, 
was  dead:  she  had  been  kind  to  me,  but  I  cannot 
remember  that  she  ever  caressed  me.  The  poor  crea- 
ture tilled  the  earth  like  a  man,  and  if  she  ever  did  take 
me  on  her  knee,  she  also  rapped  my  ringers  with  a 
spoon  if  I  ate  the  soup  too  fast  out  of  the  porringer. 
Poor  old  woman  !  there  's  never  a  day  I  do  not  pra3r 
for  her.     May  the   good   God  give   her,   up  there,   a 


The  Country  Doctor.  ?85 

happier  life  than  she  had  here  below  ;  specially  a  better 
bed:  she  was  always  complaining  of  the  hard  mat: 
on  which  we  slept  together. 

"You  can't  imagine,  my  dear  gentlemen.*'  resir.. 
the  Fosseuse  after  a  momentary  pause,  "how  it  hurts 
one's  soul  to  get  nothing  but  harsh  words  and  rebuffs, 
and  looks  which  cut  you  to  the  heart  like  knives.  I 
have  lived  among  old  paupers  who  did  not  mind  it  a 
bit ;  but  I  was  not  born  for  such  a  life.  A  mere  *  no ' 
always  made  me  weep.  Many  an  evening  I  came  back 
sadder  than  ever  to  my  manger  :  and  I  never  was  com- 
forted till  I  had  said  my  prayers.  In  all  God's  earth 
there  was  no  creature  on  whose  heart  I  could  rest  mine. 
The  blue  sky  was  my  only  friend.  I  always  felt  happy 
when  the  sky  was  all  blue.  When  the  wind  swept  away 
the  clouds.  I  lay  amoug  the  rocks  and  looked  up  at  it. 
Then  I  dreamed  I  was  a  great  lady.  By  d'nt  of  gazing 
into  heaven,  I  thought  I  was  bathed  in  its  olue  :  I  lived 
up  there  in  my  soul,  nothing  tied  me  down  ;  I  mounted 
up.  and  up.  —  and  I  was  glad. 

"  But  to  come  back  to  my  loves."  she  said,  changing 
her  tone.  "  I  must  tell  you  that  the  innkeeper's  dog 
had  a  little  puppy,  dainty  as  a  lady,  all  white,  with  black 
spots  on  its  paws. — oh.  I  see  the  cherub  now!  The 
poor  little  thing  was  the  only  creature  that  ever  gave 
me  a  kind  look  in  those  days.  I  gave  him  the  best  of 
what  I  had  to  eat  :  he  understood  me  :  he  always  came 
to  meet  me  at  night  when  I  got  back :  he  was  not 
ashamed  of  my  poverty,  and  would  jump  upon  me  and 
lick  my  feet.  Ah  !  there  was  something  so  kind  in  his 
eyes,  so  grateful,  that  often  I  cried  to  see  it.  As  I 
was  saying,  that  was  the  onlv  creature  that  loved  me. 


286  The  Country  Doctor. 

In  winter  he  slept  at  ni}'  feet.  I  suffered  so  when  he 
was  whipped  that  I  taught  him  not  to  go  about  the  houses 
and  steal  bones  ;  and  after  a  while  he  was  satisfied  to  eat 
nry  bread.  If  I  were  sad,  he  would  stand  in  front  of  me 
and  look  in  my  eyes,  as  much  as  to  say :  '  You  are  sad, 
my  poor  Fosseuse.'  If  travellers  flung  me  sous,  he 
picked  them  out  of  the  dust,  and  brought  them  to  me. 
When  I  had  him  for  a  friend,  I  was  less  unhappy.  I 
put  aside  a  few  sous  every  day,  trying  to  get  fifty  francs 
and  buy  him  of  Pere  Manseau,  the  innkeeper.  One 
day  the  wife  saw  the  dog  was  fond  of  me,  and  took  it 
into  her  head  to  dote  on  him.  Now  3011  must  know  he 
hated  her.  Animals  spy  out  souls ;  they  guess  who 
loves  them  in  a  minute.  I  had  a  piece  of  gold  sewn 
into  the  top  of  my  petticoat ;  so  I  said  to  Pere  Man- 
seau :  '  My  dear  monsieur,  I  meant  to  have  offered  you 
a  year's  savings  for  your  dog,  but  I  see  that  3'our  wife 
wants  him  for  herself,  though  she  does  not  really  care 
for  him.  Sell  him  to  me  now  for  twent}'  francs  ;  and 
here  they  are.'  '  No,  my  little  one,'  he  said,  '  put  up 
your  twent}'  francs.  God  preserve  me  from  taking  the 
money  of  the  poor.  Keep  the  dog.  If  m}7  wife  makes 
a  fuss,  do  you  go  awa}7.'  His  wife  made  a  terrible 
scene  about  it ;  ah,  mere}7  me  !  you  would  have  thought 
the  house  was  on  fire  ;  you  don't  know  what  she  said. 
Seeing  that  the  dog  was  given  to  me  out  of  friendship, 
and  that  she  could  not  get  him,  she  had  him  poisoned. 
M3'  poor  dear  dog  died  in  my  arms  ;  I  wept  over  him  as 
if  he  were  m3T  child,  and  buried  him  under  a  fir-tree. 

"  Oh  !  3'ou  don't  know  what  I  laid  in  that  grave.  I 
said  to  myself,  as  I  sat  beside  it,  that  I  should  be  alone 
upon  earth,  that  nothing  would  prosper  with  me,  that  I 


The  Country  Doctor.  287 

should  become  what  I  was  before  I  had  him,  —  a  creature 
without  a  human  being  belonging  to  me  ;  I  should  see 
no  look  of  friendliness  in  any  face.  I  sat  there  all  that 
night,  beneath  the  stars,  praying  God  to  have  pit}'  upon 
me.  When  I  went  back  to  the  high-road,  I  found  a 
poor  little  bo}',  only  ten  years  old,  who  had  no  hands. 
'  The  good  God  has  heard  me,'  I  thought ;  for  I  had 
never  praj*ed  to  him  as  I  did  that  night.  '  I  will  take 
care  of  the  poor  child,'  I  said  to  nryself.  '  We  will  beg 
together,  and  I  will  be  his  mother.  Two  together,  we 
shall  do  well ;  perhaps  I  shall  have  more  courage  for 
him  than  I  had  for  nryself.'  At  first  the  little  one 
seemed  happ}7 ;  'twould  have  been  hard  not  to  be.  I 
did  everything  he  wished,  I  gave  him  all  I  had  that 
was  best;  in  fact,  I  was  his  slave,  and  he  tyrannized 
over  me  ;  but  that  seemed  better  than  to  be  alone. 
Ah !  as  soon  as  the  little  wretch  knew  I  had  a  gold 
piece  sewn  in  my  petticoat,  he  undid  the  stitches,  and 
stole  it  from  me,  —  stole  the  price  of  my  poor  dog,  that 
I  was  keeping  to  say  masses  for  its  soul :  a  child  with- 
out hands  !  it  made  me  shudder. 

"Ah!"  she  went  on,  "that  theft  disheartened  me 
more  for  life  than  I  know  how  to  tell.  Was  all  I  loved 
to  perish  in  my  hands?  One  day  I  saw  a  pretty  open 
carriage  coming  up  the  side  of  the  mountain  near 
Echelles.  In  it  was  a  young  lady  as  beautiful  as  the 
Virgin  Mary,  and  a  young  man  who  looked  very  like 
her.  '  Oh  !  see  that  pretty  girl,'  the  }'oung  man  said 
to  her  as  he  threw  me  a  bit  of  mone}-.  None  but  you, 
Monsieur  Benassis,  can  know  the  pleasure  that  compli- 
ment gave  me,  — but  the  gentleman  ought  not  to  have 
flung  me  the  rnone^.     Then,  impelled  by  I  don't  know 


288  The  Country  Doctor. 

what  sort  of  whimsey  in  my  head,  I  set  off  running 
along  some  paths  which  make  a  short  cut,  and  got  to 
the  rocks  of  the  Echelles  before  the  carriage,  which 
crawled  up.  I  saw  the  young  man  again.  He  was  quite 
surprised  to  see  me ;  and  I  felt  so  glad  nry  heart  beat 
up,  into  my  throat;  something,  I  don't  know  what, 
drew  me  to  him.  After  he  recognized  me  I  started 
again,  feeling  very  sure  that  he  and  the  3'oung  lady 
would  go  to  see  the  cascades  of  Couz.  When  they 
got  out  of  the  carriage,  they  saw  me  again  under  the 
walnut-trees  which  line  the  road  ;  and  that  time  they 
questioned  me,  and  seemed  to  take  an  interest  in  me. 
Never  in  my  life  did  I  hear  such  sweet  voices.  I 
thought  about  them  for  months,  always  hoping  they 
would  come  back.  I  would  have  given  two  3'ears  of 
nry  life  to  see  him  again,  he  was  so  gentle.  —  There! 
up  to  the  daj'  I  first  saw  Monsieur  Benassis,  those  were 
the  great  events  of  my  life  ;  for  when  1113'  mistress  sent 
me  away  because  I  wore  her  miserable  ball-dress,  I 
only  pitied  her.  I  forgave  her ;  and  to  tell  the  hon- 
est truth,  if  3*ou  '11  permit  me  to  sa3T  it,  I  thought 
n^self  a  great  deal  better  than  she,  though  she  is  a 
countess." 

"Well,"  said  Genestas,  after  a  moment's  silence, 
"3-011  see  that  God  is  your  friend,  for  here  you  are 
in  clover." 

At  these  words  the  Fosseuse  looked  at  Benassis  with 
e3Tes  full  of  gratitude. 

"  I  wish  I  were  rich !  "  exclaimed  the  officer. 

The  exclamation  was  followed  by  total  silence. 

"  You  owe  me  a  stoiy  now,"  said  the  Fosseuse  in  a 
coaxing:  voice. 


The  Country  Doctor.  289 

"  And  I  will  tell  you  one,"  answered  Genestas. 
"The  evening  before  the  battle  of  Friedland,"  he  con- 
tinued, after  a  pause,  "  I  had  been  sent  with  a  de- 
spatch to  the  headquarters  of  General  Davoust,  and  I 
was  returning  to  my  bivouac,  when,  at  the  angle  of  a 
road,  I  came  face  to  face  with  the  Emperor.  Napoleon 
looked  at  me.  'You  are  Captain  Genestas?'  he  said. 
'  Yes,  sire.'  '  Don't  keep  along  that  road,'  he  said  ; 
'  take  the  other  to  the  left ;  it  will  bring  you  sooner  to 
your  division.'  You  can't  imagine  what  a  tone  of  kind- 
ness the  Emperor  put  into  those  few  words  —  he  who 
had  so  much  upon  his  mind.  At  that  very  moment 
he  was  reconnoitring  his  battlefield  for  the  next  day. 
I  tell  you  that  little  matter  to  show  what  a  memory 
he  had,  and  also  to  let  you  see  I  was  one  of  those 
whose  face  he  knew.  In  1815  I  took  the  oath.  If  it 
had  n't  been  for  that,  I  should  have  been  a  colonel  to- 
day ;  but  I  never  had  the  least  intention  of  betiding 
the  Bourbons.  At  the  time,  I  thought  only  of  defend- 
ing France.  I  commanded  a  squadron  of  horse  attached 
to  the  grenadiers  of  the  Guard,  and,  in  spite  of  the 
pain  I  still  felt  from  my  wound,  I  swung  my  sabre  at 
Waterloo. 

"Well,"  continued  the  captain,  "  when  all  was  over, 
I  accompanied  Napoleon  to  Paris.  Then,  in  spite  of 
his  orders,  I  followed  him  to  Rochefort ;  it  comforted 
me  to  keep  watch  and  see  that  no  harm  happened  to 
him  b}T  the  wa}\  So,  when  he  came  to  the  shores  of 
the  sea  and  paced  up  and  down,  he  saw  me  standing 
sentinel  ten  paces  from  him.  '  Well,  Genestas,'  he 
said,  '  so  vve  are  not  dead  3'et?'  The  words  broke  nvy 
heart.     If  you  had  heard  them,  you'd  have  shuddered, 

19 


290  The  Country  Doctor. 

as  I  did,  from  head  to  foot.  He  pointed  to  a  cursed 
English  ship  blockading  the  port,  and  said,  '  When 
I  look  at  that,  I  regret  I  did  not  drown  nryself  in  the 
blood  of  my  Guard.' 

"Yes,"  resumed  Genestas,  looking  at  the  doctor  and 
the  Fosseuse,  "those  were  his  very  words.  'The 
marshals  who  dissuaded  you  from  charging  yourself,' 
I  said  to  him,  '  and  kept  you  in  your  carriage,  were 
not  your  true  friends.'  '  Come  with  me ! '  he  cried, 
quickly.  '  Sire,'  I  said,  'gladly  would  I  go  with  you, 
but  I  have  a  little  one  hanging  to  me  just  now  who  has 
lost  his  mother,  and  I  am  not  free.'  So  it  was  Adrien 
here  who  kept  me  from  going  to  Saint  Helena.  '  See,' 
said  Napoleon,  '  I  have  never  given  3011  anything ;  3011 
are  not  one  of  those  who  always  had  one  hand  full  and 
the  other  open  ;  here  is  the  snuff-box  I  have  used  during 
this  last  campaign.  I  give  it  to  you.  Sta}r  in  France  ; 
before  all  else  she  needs  brave  men.  Remain  in  the 
army,  and  think  of  me.  You  are  the  last  of  1113'  Egypt- 
ians whom  I  shall  see  on  the  soil  of  France.'  He  gave 
me  the  little  snuff-box.  '  Engrave  two  words  upon  it, 
Honor,  Country,'  he  said ;  '  they  are  the  history  of  our 
last  two  campaigns.'  Then  his  suite  rejoined  him, 
and  I  spent  the  rest  of  the  morning  with  them.  The 
Emperor  came  and  went  along  the  shore.  He  was 
quite  calm,  but  at  times  his  brows  contracted.  Ify 
midday  the  embarkation  was  thought  impossible.  The 
English  knew  he  was  in  Rochefort ;  either  he  must 
deliver  himself  up  to  them,  or  recross  France.  We 
were  all  anxious.  The  minutes  weighed  like  hours. 
Napoleon  was  between  the  Bourbons,  who  would  have 
shot   him,    and   the   English,    who   are   not   honorable 


The  Country  Doctor.  291 

men  ;  for  the)*  can  never  wash  out  the  shame  of  cast- 
ing upon  a  barren  rock  the  enemy  who  went  to  them 
for  hospitality. 

4 'At  this  anxious  moment  some  one — I  don't  know 
who  —  presented  to  him  a  lieutenant,  Doret,  a  sailor 
who  came  to  propose  a  means  of  getting  him  to  Amer- 
ica. At  that  time  there  was  a  government  brig  in  port, 
also  a  merchant  vessel.  '  Captain,'  said  the  Emperor, 
'  how  will  3*011  manage  it?'  '  Sire,'  answered  the  man, 
'  you  will  embark  on  the  merchantman  ;  I  with  a  few  de- 
voted men  will  take  the  brig  and  run  up  the  Bourbon  flag, 
under  shelter  of  which  we  can  get  alongside  the  Eng- 
lishman, and  set  fire  to  him  :  we  shall  blow  up  together, 
and  3*ou  will  pass  free.'  '  We  will  go  with  you  ! '  I  cried 
to  the  man.  Napoleon  looked  at  us  and  said, '  Captain 
Doret,  live,  for  the  good  of  France.'  It  was  the  only 
time  I  ever  saw  Napoleon  show  emotion.  Then  he  waved 
his  hand,  and  went  away.  I  left  Rochefort  when  I  saw 
him  go  on  board  that  English  ship.  He  was  lost,  and 
he  knew  it.  There  was  a  traitor  in  the  town  who  had 
signalled  his  presence  to  his  enemies.  Knowing  this, 
Napoleon  played  his  last  card ;  he  did  what  he  had 
done  before  on  the  field  of  battle  ;  he  went  to  his  ene- 
mies, instead  of  waiting  until  they  came  to  him.  You 
speak  of  griefs  ;  no  words  can  tell  the  despair  of  those 
who  loved  him  for  himself." 

"Where  is  his  snuff-box?"  asked  the  Fosseuse. 

"  At  Grenoble,  in  a  box,"  answered  the  captain. 

"  I  will  go  and  see  it,  if  you  will  let  me,"  she  said. 
'-To  think  that  }*ou  have  something  his  fingers  have 
touched  !     His  hand  was  beautiful  ? " 

"Very  beautiful." 


292  The  Country  Doctor. 

"  Is  it  true  that  he  is  dead?" 

"  Yes,  truly,  he  is  dead,  my  poor  child." 

"I  was  so  little  in  1815  that  I  could  only  just  see  his 
hat  in  the  streets  of  Grenoble ;  and  then  I  came  near 
being  crushed." 

"  What  good  coffee  this  is,"  said  Genestas.  "  Well, 
Adrien,  don't  you  like  the  country?  You  will  often 
come  and  see  mademoiselle,  will  you  not?  " 

The  child  did  not  answer ;  he  seemed  afraid  of  look- 
ing at  the  Fosseuse.  The  doctor  did  not  take  his  eyes 
from  the  lad,  and  seemed  to  read  into  his  soul. 

"  Of  course  he  will  come  and  see  her,"  said  Benassis. 
"  Now  let  us  go  home.  I  must  get  a  fresh  horse  for  a 
long  ride  I  have  to  take  ;  and  while  I  am  gone,  you 
can  settle  things  with  Jacquotte." 

"Will  you  come  with  us?"  said  Genestas  to  the 
Fosseuse. 

"  Willingly,"  she  replied.  "I  have  several  things 
to  return  to  Madame  Jacquotte." 

The\T  started  on  their  way  to  the  doctor's  house  ;  but 
the  Fosseuse,  joyous  in  the  presence  of  the  little  com- 
pany, led  them  along  hidden  paths  through  the  wildest 
part  of  the  mountain. 

"Monsieur,"  she  said  to  Genestas,  after  a  short 
silence,  "  you  have  told  me  nothing  of  3'onrself,  and  1 
wanted  to  hear  some  of  your  warlike  adventures.  1 
like  what  you  said  of  Napoleon,  but  it  gives  me  pain. 
If  3'ou  would  be  so  very  kind  as  —  " 

"  She  is  right  enough,"  said  Benassis.  gently.  "  Tell 
us  some  of  }Our  famous  adventures  as  we  walk  along. 
Come,  now,  something  interesting, — like  your  beam  in 
the  barn  at  Beresina." 


The  Country  Doctor.  293 

"I  have  so  few  recollections,"  said  Genestas.  " There 
are  some  people  to  whom  everything  happens,  but  I  've 
never  been  the  hero  of  any  adventure.  Well,  here 's  the 
only  droll  thing  I  ever  met  with  :  In  1805,  when  a 
sub-lieutenant,  I  was  with  the  grand  army  at  Auster- 
litz.  Before  the  taking  of  Ulm,  we  fought  several  en- 
gagements where  the  cavalry  had  a  fine  chance,  for  it 
was  under  the  command  of  Murat,  who  never  refused 
trumps.  After  one  of  the  first  brushes  of  the  cam- 
paign, we  got  possession  of  a  bit  of  territoiy  where 
there  were  a  number  of  fine  countiw-houses.  One  even- 
ing nvy  regiment  camped  in  the  park  of  a  chateau  be- 
longing to  a  young  and  pretty  woman,  a  countess.  I 
went,  naturally,  to  lodge  in  the  house,  and  got  there  as 
soon  as  I  could,  to  prevent  pillage.  As  I  entered  the 
salon  a  cavalry  sergeant  had  just  levelled  his  carbine  at 
the  countess,  demanding  what  she  certainly  would  never 
have  given  him.  I  struck  the  weapon  up  with  my 
sabre  ;  it  went  off  and  shattered  a  mirror.  Then  I 
dealt  the  fellow  a  blow  with  the  flat  of  my  blade,  and 
stretched  him  on  the  floor.  At  the  lady's  cries,  and 
hearing  the  shot,  all  her  people  rushed  in,  and  threatened 
me.  '  Stop  ! '  said  the  countess  in  German  to  those  who 
wanted  to  run  me  through  ;  '  that  officer  saved  my  life.' 
On  that  they  all  went  out.  The  lad}*  gave  me  her 
handkerchief,  a  beautiful,  embroidered  handkerchief, 
which  I  still  have,  and  told  me  I  should  always  be  sure 
of  a  resting-place  in  her  house  ;  and  if  I  ever  had 
a  trouble,  no  matter  what,  to  come  to  her,  I  would 
find  her  a  sister,  a  devoted  friend,  —  in  short,  all  sorts 
of  honeyed  words.  She  was  as  beautiful  as  a  wed- 
ding-morn,   and   as   pla}Tfui   as   a   kitten.     We   dined 


294  The  Country  Doctor. 

together,  and  by  the  next  day  I  was  over  head  and  ears 
in  love.  Alas!  I  had  to  be  in  line  at  Gnntzberg,  —  I 
think  that  was  the  place.  So  I  rode  away  armed  with 
the  handkerchief.  The  fight  came  off.  I  kept  saying 
to  myself:  'Oh,  for  a  ball!  Among  them,  isn't  there 
one  for  me?'  Of  course  I  didn't  want  it  in  the  thigh, 
for  then  I  could  n't  have  gone  back  to  the  chateau  ;  but 
I  longed  for  a  good  wound  in  the  arm,  which  my  prin- 
cess would  have  bathed  and  caressed.  So  I  dashed 
like  a  madman  at  the  enemy.  No  such  luck  !  I  came 
out  safe  and  sound  ;  and  after  that,  forward,  march  ! 
no  more  countess.     There,  that's  all." 

By  this  time  the}'  had  reached  Benassis's  house,  and 
the  doctor  speedily  mounted  and  rode  off.  When  he 
returned,  the  cook,  to  whom  Genestas  had  specially 
recommended  his  boy,  had  already  taken  possession  of 
Adrien,  and  had  put  him  in  the  famous  bedroom  of 
Monsieur  Gravier.  She  was  much  astonished  when 
her  master  ordered  a  simple  cot-bed  to  be  put  in  his 
own  room  for  the  lad,  —  ordering  it,  too,  in  so  impera- 
tive a  tone  that  Jacquotte  could  say  nothing  against 
it.  After  dinner  the  captain  started  on  his  return  to 
Grenoble,  happy  in  the  assurances  Benassis  again  gave 
him  as  to  the  speed}'  recovery  of  his  boy. 

In  the  early  days  of  December,  eight  months  after  he 
had  confided  his  child  to  the  doctor's  care,  Genestas 
was  appointed  lieutenant -colonel  to  a  regiment  then  in 
garrison  at  Poitiers.  He  was  thinking  of  letting  Be- 
nassis know  of  his  approaching  departure,  when  he  re- 
ceived a  letter,  in  which  his  friend  told  him  of  Adrien's 
complete  recovery.     He  wrote  :  — 


The  Country  Doctor.  295 

"  The  boy  has  grown  tall  and  strong,  and  he  feels  per- 
fectly well.  Since  you  saw  him  he  has  profited  so  much  by 
Butifer's  instructions  that  he  is  now  as  good  a  shot  as  our 
smuggler  himself:  he  is,  moreover,  brisk  and  agile,  a  good 
walker,  and  a  good  horseman.  Everything  about  him  has 
changed.  The  boy  of  sixteen,  who  formerly  seemed  no  more 
than  twelve,  now  looks  to  be  twenty.  His  eye  is  bold  and 
confident.  In  short,  he  is  a  man,  and  a  man  whose  future 
you  ought  now  to  take  into  consideration." 

"I'll  go  and  see  Benassis  to-morrow,  and  take  his 
advice  as  to  what  profession  I  shall  put  the  fellow  to," 
thought  Genestas,  as  he  went  to  a  farewell  supper  given 
to  him  by  the  officers  of  the  regiment ;  for  he  was  to 
leave  Grenoble  in  a  few  days. 

When  the  lieutenant-colonel  came  home  that  night, 
his  servant  gave  him  a  letter  brought  by  a  messenger, 
who  had  waited  a  long  time  for  an  answer.  Though 
rather  dizzy  with  the  toasts  his  comrades  had  been 
drinking  in  his  honor,  Genestas  recognized  the  hand- 
writing of  his  son,  supposed  that  he  was  only  asking 
for  the  gratification  of  some  fancy,  and  left  the  letter 
lying  on  his  table,  from  which  he  picked  it  up  the  next 
morning  when  the  fumes  of  the  champagne  had  been 
slept  awa}\ 

"My  dear  Father,  —  " 

"Ah!  you  little  scamp,"  he  said  to  himself,  "you 
are  never  at  a  loss  how  to  cajole  me  when  you  want 
anything." 

Then  he  went  on,  and  read  these  words  :  — 

"  The  good  Monsieur  Benassis  is  dead, —  " 


296  The  Country  Doctor. 

The  letter  dropped  from  his  hands ;  and  a  long  time 
elapsed  before  he  resumed  the  reading  of  it. 

"  This  misfortune  has  thrown  consternation  over  the  whole 
country,  and  is  the  more  surprising,  because  Monsieur  Be- 
nassis  was  perfectly  well  the  night  before,  and  showed  no 
signs  of  illness.  The  day  before  yesterday,  just  as  if  he 
knew  his  end  were  near,  he  went  to  see  all  his  patients,  even 
those  that  were  farthest  off:  he  spoke  to  every  one  whom 
he  met,  and  said,  '  Good-by,  friends.'  He  came  home 
as  usual,  to  dine  with  me,  about  five  o'clock.  Jacquotte 
thought  he  looked  rather  red  and  purplish  in  the  face,  but, 
as  the  weather  was  cold,  she  did  not  give  him  a  hot  footbath, 
as  she  was  in  the  habit  of  doing  when  the  blood  seemed  to 
rush  to  his  head.  So  the  poor  woman  has  been  crying  out, 
through  her  tears,  for  the  last  two  days,  — '  If  I  had  only 
given  him  the  bath,  he  would  be  alive  now.' 

"  Monsieur  Benassis  was  very  hungry  when  he  came  in, 
and  ate  a  good  dinner,  and  he  seemed  gayer  than  usual. 
We  laughed  a  great  deal;  indeed,  I  never  heard  him  laugh 
so  much.  After  dinner,  about  seven  o'clock,  a  man  from 
Saint-Laurent-du-Pont  came  to  fetch  him  for  a  pressing 
case.  He  said  to  me:  '  I  must  go,  though  my  digestion 
is  not  finished,  and  I  don't  like  to  get  on  horseback  in  such 
a  state,  —  especially  not  when  it  is  so  cold  ;  it  is  enough  to 
kill  a  man.'     However,  he  went  off. 

"  About  nine  o'clock,  Goguelat,  the  postman,  brought  a 
letter  for  Monsieur  Benassis.  Jacquotte,  who  was  tired 
with  having  washed  that  day,  went  to  bed,  leaving  the  let- 
ter with  me,  and  asking  me  to  prepare  the  tea  by  the  fire 
in  Monsieur  Benassis's  chamber,  —  where  I  still  sleep  on 
my  little  cot-bed.  I  put  out  the  fire  in  the  salon,  and  went 
upstairs  to  wait  for  my  good  friend.  Before  putting  the 
letter  on  the  chimney-piece  I  looked,  out  of  curiosity,  at 
the  postmark  and  the  writing.  The  letter  came  from  Paris, 
and   the   address   seemed   to   be   written   by  a   woman.     I 


The  Country  Doctor.  297 

tell  you   all   this  because  of  the   effect  the   letter  had  on 
subsequent  events. 

"  Towards  ten  o'clock  I  heard  the  horse's  step.  Monsieur 
Benassis  said  to  Nicolle,  'It  is  frightfully  cold;  I  don't  feel 
well.'  '  Shall  I  wake  Jacquotte?  '  asked  Nicolle.  '  No,  no,' 
he  answered.  Then  he  came  upstairs.  '  I  have  your  tea  all 
ready,'  I  said  to  him.  'Thank  you,  Adrien,'  he  replied, 
smiling — you  know  how!  It  was  his  last  smile.  He  took 
off  his  cravat  as  if  it  choked  him.  '  It  is  very  hot  here,'  he 
said.  Then  he  threw  himself  into  his  armchair.  '  A  let- 
ter came  for  you,  my  good  friend;  here  it  is,'  I  said.  He 
took  it,  looked  at  the  writing,  and  exclaimed;  'My  God! 
perhaps  she  is  free!'  Then  he  laid  his  head  back,  and  his 
hands  trembled.  At  last  he  put  a  light  on  the  table,  and 
opened  the  letter.  The  tone  of  his  exclamation  had  been  so 
startling  that  I  kept  looking  at  him  as  he  read,  and  I  saw 
him  flush  and  weep.  Suddenly,  he  fell  forward,  head  fore- 
most; I  picked  him  up  and  saw  that  his  face  was  purple. 
'  I  am  dead,'  he  said,  stammering,  and  making  a  frightful 
effort  to  straighten  himself  up.  'Bleed  me!  bleed  me!'  he 
cried,  seizing  my  hand.  'Adrien,  burn  that  letter.'  He 
held  it  out  to  me,  and  I  threw  it  in  the  fire. 

"  I  called  Jacquotte  and  Nicolle.  but  only  Nicolle  heard  me; 
he  came,  and  helped  me  lay  Monsieur  Benassis  on  my  little 
bed.  Our  good  friend  no  longer  knew  us.  After  that  he 
opened  his  eyes  once  or  twice,  but  he  saw  nothing.  As 
Nicolle  rode  through  the  village  to  fetch  Monsieur  Bordier, 
the  surgeon,  he  alarmed  the  whole  neighborhood.  Mon- 
sieur Janvier,  Monsieur  Dufau,  all  those  whom  you  know, 
were  the  first  to  get  here.  Monsieur  Benassis  was  then 
almost  dead;  there  was  no  hope.  Monsieur  Bordier  cauter- 
ized the  soles  of  the  feet,  but  could  get  no  signs  of  life. 
It  was  an  attack  of  gout  combined  with  a  rush  of  blood  to 
the  head. 

"  As  for  me,  I  am  very  sad  and  very  unhappy.  I  can  truly 
say  that,  excepting  you,  there  is  no  one  I  loved  so  much. 


298  The  Country  Doctor. 

I  learned  more  from  talking  with  Monsieur  Benassis  in  the 
evenings  than  from  all  the  things  they  taught  me  in  school. 

"  The  next  morning,  when  his  death  was  known  in  the  vil- 
lage, you  can  hardly  believe  what  a  scene  there  was.  The 
courtyard,  the  garden,  were  filled  with  people,  sobbing  and 
weeping.  No  one  went  to  work;  each  related  what  Monsieur 
Benassis  had  said  to  him  the  last  time  they  met:  some  told 
of  all  the  good  he  had  done  to  them ;  those  who  were  less 
afflicted  spoke  for  others.  The  crowd  increased  from  hour 
to  hour,  and  all  the  people  wanted  to  see  him.  The  sad 
tidings  spread  quickly.  The  people  of  this  district  and  the 
neighboring  districts  seemed  to  have  but  one  thought:  men, 
women,  girls,  and  boys  flocked  to  the  village  from  a  circuit 
of  thirty  miles.  Wheu  the  funeral  took  place,  the  coffin  was 
borne  by  the  four  oldest  persons  in  the  village ;  though  not 
without  the  greatest  difficulty,  for  between  Monsieur  Benas- 
sis's  house  and  the  church  there  were  at  least  five  thousand 
persons,  most  of  them  kneeling  as  at  the  procession  of  the 
Host.  The  church  could  not  hold  all  the  people.  When 
the  service  began  there  fell,  in  spite  of  the  sobs,  such  a  deep 
silence  over  the  crowd  that  the  chants  and  the  bell  could  be 
heard  to  the  end  of  the  street.  But  when  it  came  to  remov- 
ing the  body  to  the  new  cemetery  which  Monsieur  Benassis 
had  just  given  to  the  village, — little  thinking,  poor  man, 
that  he  was  to  be  the  first  buried  there,  —  a  great  cry  arose. 
Monsieur  Janvier  wept  as  he  said  the  prayers,  and  all  pres- 
ent had  tears  in  their  eyes. 

"  At  last  he  was  buried.  In  the  evening  the  crowd  dis- 
persed and  went  to  their  homes,  spreading  grief  and  mourn- 
ing throughout  the  country.  The  next  morning,  Gondrin, 
Goguelat,  Butifer,  the  gamekeeper,  and  some  others,  set  to 
work  to  raise  a  pyramid  of  earth,  twenty  feet  high,  over  the 
spot  where  he  lies,  which  they  are  going  to  sod,  and  every- 
body is  at  work  upon  it. 

"  Such,  my  dear  father,  are  the  events  of  the  last  few  days. 
The  will  of  Monsieur  Benassis  was  found  lying  open  on  his 


The  Country  Doctor.  299 

table,  by  Monsieur  Dufau.  The  disposition  that  our  kind 
friend  has  made  of  his  property  has  increased,  if  possible, 
the  attachment  that  all  feel  for  him,  and  the  grief  occasioned 
by  his  death.  And  now,  my  good  father,  I  hope  to  receive 
by  Butifer,  who  carries  this  note,  an  answer  telling  me  what 
I  must  do.  Will  you  come  and  fetch  me?  or  am  I  to  join 
you  at  Grenoble?  Tell  me  what  you  wish,  and  be  sure  of 
my  perfect  obedience. 

"  Adieu,  dear  father;  I  send  you  the  tender  regard  of  your 
affectionate  son, 

"•  Adrien  Genestas." 

"  Well,  I  must  go  there,"  cried  the  soldier. 

He  ordered  his  horse  to  be  saddled,  and  started  on 
one  of  those  December  mornings  when  the  sky  is 
covered  with  a  gray  veil,  when  the  breeze  is  not 
strong  enough  to  drive  away  the  fog,  through  which 
the  dripping  houses  and  the  leafless  trees  no  longer 
wear  their  customary  expression.  The  silence  was  grim 
—  there  are  silences  that  are  dazzling.  In  fine  weather 
the  least  sound  has  a  joyous  tone,  but  on  a  gloomy  day 
Nature  is  not  silent,  she  is  mute.  The  fog  was  clinging 
to  the  trees  and  condensing  into  drops,  which  dripped 
slowly  upon  the  fallen  leaves  like  tears.  All  noise  died 
away  in  the  humid  atmosphere.  Colonel  Genestas, 
whose  heart  was  wrung  Iry  thoughts  of  death  and  keen 
regret,  was  in  sympathy  with  this  saddened  nature.  He 
involuntarily  compared  the  soft  spring  heavens  and  the 
valley  he  had  seen  so  J030US  on  his  previous  journey 
with  the  melancholy  aspect  of  those  leaden  skies,  those 
mountains  stripped  of  their  green  drapeiy  and  not 
yet  swathed  in  robes  of  snow,  —  whose  effects  have  a 
beauty  of  their  own.  A  naked  landscape  is  a  painful 
sight  to  a  man  on  his  way  to  an  open  grave ;  to  him, 


300  The  Country  Doctor. 

that  grave  seems  everywhere.  The  black  fir-trees, 
which  here  and  there  clothed  the  overhanging  heights, 
blended  their  images  of  mourning  with  the  other  influ- 
ences that  gripped  the  soldier's  heart,  and  every  time 
his  eyes  took  in  the  valley  to  its  full  extent,  he  thought 
of  the  sorrow  that  brooded  over  it,  and  the  void  that 
was  caused  by  the  death  of  one  man. 

Genestas  soon  arrived  at  the  place  where  he  had  for- 
merly obtained  a  cup  of  milk.  Seeing  smoke  from  the 
chimney  of  the  cottage  where  the  hospital  children  were 
taken  care  of,  his  thoughts  turned  more  particularly  to 
the  beneficent  mind  of  his  friend,  and  he  resolved  to 
stop  and  make  a  gift  to  the  poor  woman  in  Benassis's 
name.  Fastening  his  horse  to  a  tree,  he  opened  the 
door  of  the  house  without  rapping. 

"  Good-day,  mother,"  he  said  to  the  old  woman, 
whom  he  found  in  the  chimney-corner  with  all  the  chil- 
dren squatting  round  her.     "  Do  you  remember  me?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  very  well,  my  dear  monsieur.  You  came 
here  on  a  prett}'  spring  morning,  and  gave  me  some 
money." 

"Well,  mother,  here's  more  for  you  and  the  little 
ones." 

"  Mv  good  monsieur,  I  thank  you.  May  God  bless 
you  !  " 

"Don't  thank  me;  you  owe  the  money  to  our  poor 
friend  Monsieur  Benassis." 

The  old  woman  raised  her  head  and  looked  at  Ge- 
nestas. "  Ah,  monsieur,"  she  said,  "  though  he  has 
given  his  property  to  our  poor  valley,  and  we  are  all  his 
heirs,  we  have  lost  our  true  wealth  :  he  made  everything 
come  right  for  us." 


The  Country  Doctor,  301 

"  Good-by,  mother;  pray  for  him,"  said  Genestas, 
tapping  the  children  lightly  with  his  riding-whip  as  he 
turned  away. 

Then,  followed  to  the  door  by  all  the  little  family  and 
the  old  woman  herself,  he  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
on.  Taking  the  lower  road  to  the  village,  he  came  to  the 
bridle-path  which  led  up  to  the  cottage  of  the  Fosseuse. 
When  he  reached  the  angle  at  which  the  house  could  be 
seen,  he  noticed,  with  much  uneasiness,  that  the  doors 
and  blinds  were  all  closed  ;  then  he  returned  to  the 
village  b}T  the  great  high-road,  whose  poplars  were  now 
leafless.  As  he  entered  it,  he  saw  an  old  laborer 
dressed  in  what  seemed  to  be  his  Sunday  clothes,  walk- 
ing all  b}T  himself  and  without  his  tools. 

"  Good-day,  Moreau." 

"Ah!  good-day,  monsieur  —  I  remember  3'ou,"  said 
the  old  man  after  a  moment's  silence.  "You  are  the 
friend  of  our  departed  mayor.  Oh  !  monsieur,  would  n't 
it  have  been  better  if  the  good  God  had  taken  a  poor 
rheumatic  man  like  me?  lam  good  for  nothing;  but 
he  was  eveiTbody's  joy." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  why  the  Fosseuse  is  not  at  home?" 

The  old  man  looked  at  the  sky. 

"  What  o'clock  is  it,  monsieur!  There's  no  sun  to 
tell  the  time  o'  day,"  he  said. 

"It  is  ten  o'clock." 

"  Well,  then,  she  is  either  at  mass  or  in  the  cemeter}-. 
She  goes  there  every  day.  Though  Monsieur  Benassis 
left  her  an  annuity  of  five  hundred  francs  and  that 
house  during  her  lifetime,  she  is  half-crazy  with  grief." 

"  Where  are  3*011  going,  my  good  man?" 

"  To  the  funeral  of  that  poor  little  Jacques,  who  was 


302  The  Country  Doctor. 

my  nephew.  The  weakly  thing  died  yesterday  morning  ; 
it  really  seemed  as  if 'twas  that  dear  Monsieur  Benassis 
who  kept  him  alive.  Ah  !  those  j'oung  ones,  they  die  !  " 
added  Moreau,  in  a  tone  half-plaintive,  half-jocular. 

At  the  entrance  to  the  village,  Genestas  stopped  his 
horse  as  he  overtook  Goguelat  and  Gondrin,  both  carry- 
ing spades  and  pickaxes. 

"  Well,  my  old  troopers,"  he  cried,  "  we  have  had  the 
misfortune  to  lose  him." 

"That's  enough,  enough,  nry  officer,"  replied  Go- 
guelat in  a  surly  tone.  "  We  know  it  too  well ;  we  have 
just  been  cutting  sods  for  his  grave." 

"It  will  be  a  noble  life'  for  yoxx  to  tell  of,"  said 
Genestas. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Goguelat,  "  barring  the  battles,  he 
was  the  Napoleon  of  our  vallejV 

When  Genestas  reached  the  parsonage,  he  saw  Butifer 
and  Adrien  talking  at  the  door  with  Monsieur  Janvier, 
who  had  doubtless  just  returned  from  saying  mass. 
Butifer,  seeing  that  the  officer  was  about  to  dismount, 
came  forward  to  hold  his  horse,  while  Adrien  threw  his 
arms  round  his  father's  neck.  The  soldier  was  greatly 
moA^ed  b}'  that  show  of  tenderness,  but  he  hid  his  feel- 
ings and  said  :  — 

"Well!  you  are  improved,  Adrien.  Bless  me,  you 
are  almost  a  man,  thanks  to  our  poor  friend.  And  I 
shall  not  forget  master  Butifer,  your  instructor." 

"Ah!  my  colonel,"  exclaimed  Butifer,  "take  me 
with  3tou  to  }-our  regiment.  Now  that  Monsieur 
Benassis  is  dead,  I  am  afraid  of  myself.  Did  n't  he  wish 
me  to  be  a  soldier?  well,  I  '11  do  his  will.  He  told  you 
about  me,  and  3Tou  '11  be  forbearing  — " 


The  Country  Doctor.  303 

"  Agreed,  my  good  fellow,"  said  Genestas,  grasping 
his  hand.  "Make  yourself  easy  ;  I'll  get  you  some 
good  employment  —     Ah  !  monsieur  le  cure." 

"  Colonel,  I  am  as  deeply  grieved  as  all  the  people 
in  the  district,  but  I  feel  more  keenly  than  they  how 
irreparable  a  loss  it  is  to  us.  That  man  was  an  angel. 
Happily,  he  died  without  suffering ;  God  loosened  with 
pitying  hand  the  bonds  of  a  life  that  was  a  constant 
benefit  to  us." 

"  MajT  I  ask  you  to  come  with  me  to  the  cemetery; 
I  want  to  sa}^  as  it  were  a  farewell  to  him." 

Butifer  and  Adrien  followed  Genestas  and  the  curate, 
who  walked  a  few  paces  in  advance,  talking  as  they 
went.  When  the  lieutenant-colonel  had  passed  through 
the  village  by  the  road  leading  to  the  little  lake,  he  saw, 
on  the  hither  side  of  the  mountain,  a  large  piece  of 
rocky  ground,  enclosed  by  walls. 

"That  is  the  cemeteiy,"  said  the  curate.  "Three 
months  before  he  came  —  he,  the  first  —  to  lie  there, 
our  dear  friend  was  impressed  with  the  evils  that  result 
from  putting  grave-yards  around  churches,  and,  to  en- 
force the  law  which  requires  that  the}'  shall  be  at  a  given 
distance  from  all  dwelling-houses,  he  himself  gave  this 
piece  of  ground  to  the  community.  To-da}'  we  bury  a 
little  child  in  it — beginning;  thus  with  Innocence  and 
Virtue.  Is  death,  then,  a  recompense?  Does  God  teach 
us  a  lesson  when  He  calls  to  Himself  two  perfect  beings  ? 
Is  the  trial  of  our  3-outh  by  ph}*sical  suffering,  of  our 
manhood  by  moral  suffering,  the  way  to  Him?  See, 
there  is  the  rustic  monument  we  are  putting  up  to  him." 

Genestas  saw  a  p}Tramid  of  earth  about  twent}r  feet 
high,  still  bare,  though  the  base  was  parth7  turfed  by 


804  The  Country  Doctor. 

the  bus}7  hands  of  the  villagers.  The  Fossense,  bathed 
in  tears,  was  sitting  with  her  head  in  her  hands,  on 
the  stones  which  held  in  place  a  large  cross  made  of  a 
fir-tree  with  the  bark  left  on.  The  soldier  read  the 
following  words  cut  in  large  letters  into  the  wood. 

D.    O.    M. 

Here  lies 

The  Good  Monsieur  Benassis, 

The  Father 

of  us  all. 

Pray  for  Him. 

"  Was  it  you,  monsieur  le  cure,"  said  Genestas, 
"who  gave  that  inscription?" 

"  No,"  replied  the  curate,  "  we  have  put  the  words 
that  have  been  said  and  echoed  from  the  tops  of  those 
mountains  as  far  as  Grenoble." 

Standing  silent  for  a  moment  and  then  approaching 
the  Fosseuse,  who  did  not  hear  him,  Genestas  said  to 
the  curate:  "  As  soon  as  I  get  my  retirement,  I  shall 
come  back  and  end  my  days  among  you." 


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